


Scent of a Vampire

by orderlychaos



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No SHIELD, First Kiss, First Time, Get Together, M/M, Phil is a medical examiner, Romance, Soulmates, Vampire!Phil, Vampires, background Isabelle/Victoria, background Nick/Melinda/Jasper, cameos by other agents, hard of hearing!Clint, pre-Daisy/Jemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 06:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Like most things in Phil Coulson’s undead life, everything started with a case.  An unusual case, but then Phil didn’t tend to find normal happened much at two a.m. in the New York City morgue.Not even on a Wednesday.Phil is just a vampire trying to live his life as a night-shift ME, but when he meets Detective Clint Barton, his life takes a turn for the interesting.  As Phil tries to help solve his cases and uncovers what looks like a conspiracy, he draws closer to the intelligent and intriguing detective, which threatens both the secrets Phil is trying to keep, and his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allochthon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allochthon/gifts).



> A very long time ago, allochthon asked for a C/C AU where Phil is a doctor/nurse/phlebotomist/consulting detective/medical examiner/whatever, who can detect anomalies in blood, from AIDS to cancer to the common cold, because he is a vampire.
> 
> So, for allochthon. I am so sorry it's taken me so long to write this, but at least it's a long one?
> 
> I lost the original inspiration for this, but I hope it’s sort of what you meant? <3
> 
>  
> 
> My thanks to Dani, for all the help and betaing <3
> 
> Also, I am not a medical examiner or a doctor, so I apologise for any mistakes. I am also not deaf or hard of hearing, and while I tried to do my research before writing this fic, I apologise if I have made mistakes and please feel free to let me know.

1.

Like most things in Phil Coulson’s undead life, everything started with a case.  An unusual case, but then Phil didn’t tend to find normal happened much at two a.m. in the New York City morgue.

Not even on a Wednesday.

The odd, indecipherable and just plain weird always came out at night, and while Phil might have gained a reputation for orderliness, he actually preferred the alternating chaos and boredom of the night-shift.  It gave him time to get things done, because despite appearances, Phil wasn’t exactly normal either.  Being a vampire was only part of it.  The rest was all Phil, because aside from feeding off blood and having the benefits of eternal life, Phil wasn’t a typical vampire.  By his age, most vampires had accumulated significant lands and wealth, and were usually living like the undead aristocracy they wanted to be -- surrounded by beautiful people, both living and undead, and indulging in the high life.

Not that Phil didn’t see the appeal, he just preferred his job.

Among the vampire community, Phil was spoken about with a mixture of incredulity and derision -- when he was spoken about at all.   _The vampire with the human job_.  Phil could never tell if it was the job part or the human part that offended his brethren more.  Either way, he was going to continue to be the night-shift Medical Examiner, and nobody could stop him.

(Besides, Phil would like to see them try.  He might not swan around like the Lord he’d once been, but he was old enough that most of the younger, less powerful vampires couldn’t touch him, and politically connected enough to the vampire underground that few would dare.  He was eccentric, not stupid.)

Phil was happy in the morgue.  It was peaceful and came with a lack of irritating humans that Phil wanted to bite, even if it was slightly cold.  Not that Phil really noticed, because he ran slightly cold, too.  It was one of the many side-effects of vampirism.  Phil had a list of them somewhere, because he’d been a doctor for a long time and sometimes the night-shift got boring.

Tonight was probably not going to be one of the boring nights.  It was only just eight in the evening, but there were three bodies waiting for autopsy, which meant ongoing cases, and Phil was pretty sure one of them belonged to a case Detective Maria Hill and her partner, Sam Wilson, were working on.  Phil would no doubt get a visit from Maria before she headed home, mostly because Maria was very prone to working late.

When the phone rang, Phil blinked and set down his almost empty coffee mug.  “New York City Morgue,” he answered.

“Dr Coulson?” the man on the phone greeted.  The voice wasn’t one Phil recognized, but the rough-edge sent an involuntary shiver down Phil’s spine, which was _utterly ridiculous_ for a grown vampire.

“Speaking,” Phil replied.  “How may I help you, Detective…?”

(His mystery caller was definitely NYPD.  No one else asked for Phil by name.)

“Barton,” the man said.  “Detective Clint Barton from the Twelfth Precinct.  I, um…  Do you have time to give me your expert opinion?”

Phil raised an eyebrow.  It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name.  Everyone who worked with the NYPD had.  Barton had been SWAT, and one of the best, before he’d been caught in an explosion that had damaged his hearing.  Rather than retire, Barton had successfully transferred out of SWAT and worked his way up to homicide detective.  It had been a big deal at the time, but most of the nastiest gossip had disappeared after Barton and his partner’s case closure rate had become one of the best in the department.

Since the morgue was still pretty quiet, Phil didn’t see the harm in agreeing to Barton’s request.  “Sure,” he said.  “Did you…”

“Great!” Barton interrupted.  “My partner and I will be right over!”

Phil blinked as Barton hung up.  He was still staring rather bemusedly at the phone when his assistant, Dr Jemma Simmons, stuck her head into his office.  As always, Jemma was neatly dressed, her brown hair pulled back from her face.  She was holding a cup of tea, and her smile and greeting were brightly cheerful.  “Good evening, Dr Coulson,” she said, her accent still undeniably English (and slightly posh) even after several years in New York.

“Hey, Jemma,” Phil said, not really one to stand on formality if he didn’t have to.  “How is everything?”

“Dr Banner left you a few reports to check over and sign, and Dr Cho would like you to look over the blood work on the Everhart case,” Jemma said.

Phil nodded, humming, because Bruce had mentioned the reports on his way out the door.  Bruce had been running late for his date with his wife, Dr Betty Ross, a professor at New York University, so Phil hadn’t picked up many details.  Both Dr Banner and Dr Cho ran the day-shift at the morgue with their army of assistants, and as well as being a brilliant medical examiner and investigator, Dr Helen Cho was the Chief ME.  That was why her request to look over the Everhart case was a little unusual.  Cases rarely stumped her, but if she needed help, Phil wouldn’t hesitate.

Thankfully, Phil was already familiar with the case, or at least parts of it.  Christine Everhart had been a prominent investigative journalist, as well as a party girl, and there was a lot of scandal and rumour about which part of her life was the one that got her killed.  The cause of death had been ruled a heart-attack triggered by a drug overdose, but clearly Helen wasn’t so sure.

“Are Bobbi and Lincoln in yet?” Phil asked, mentioning the two other regular members of the night-shift, Dr Bobbi Morse and her assistant, Dr Lincoln Campbell.

Phil and Bobbi usually only worked together on the busier nights of the week, managing shifts alone when the other had the night off, but Phil was usually grateful for the additional company.  Bobbi was very intelligent and had a dry sense of humour that Phil appreciated.  She was also slightly less earnest and formal than Jemma, who still refused to call Phil by this first name.

“I’m afraid not, Dr Coulson,” Jemma said.  “But I’m sure they’ll be in soon.  Did you need me to call them?”

“No, thank you, Jemma,” Phil replied.

“Fitz and Mack are also working late in the forensic lab,” Jemma added.  “They have a car they need to process -- apparently a body was found in the boot and Detective Hill wants as many pieces of evidence as possible.  I was thinking of ordering some Chinese for dinner to make sure they eat.”  Jemma paused, smiling at Phil.  “Would you like anything?”

Phil smiled back and shook his head.  “No, thank you,” he said.

Phil didn’t tend to eat around his intelligent, but very human, assistant.  Not because he couldn’t enjoy human food, but because he preferred to use his lunch break to step outside.  As good as Phil’s control over his vampiric nature was, it still wasn’t perfect and there were nights when the scent of blood overwhelmed the more familiar tang of chemicals in the morgue.  Those nights were hard.  

Usually, the blood was cold and congealed, or even tainted with drugs or poison, and the smell was pretty unappetising.  Even for Phil, who lived off the bagged, chilled blood he took from the few of his ‘patients’ that he could.  But Phil’s discipline could only be stretched so far, and stepping outside to clear his head helped.

At least the air in Phil’s office smelled more like old books and paper.  “I’m just going to go over Dr Banner’s reports for a while,” he told Jemma, gesturing to the paperwork left on the desk he shared with Bruce.  “And a Detective Barton and his partner might show up asking for me.  Let me know if you see them?”

Jemma nodded.  “Of course, sir,” she said.  “Shall I also prepare Mr Gill’s body for autopsy?”

“Thanks, Jemma,” Phil said.

<*>

Phil lost track of time after that.  Signing off on most of Bruce’s reports was easy, but Phil could see why Helen had wanted him to look at the bloodwork on the Everhart case.  There was something strange going on, but Phil couldn’t put his finger on what.  He’d probably have to look at the body.

Phil mostly relied on his centuries of accumulated knowledge to solve cases, but sometimes he noticed things about the scent of the blood that none of the human ME’s could.  For a vampire, nothing was better than a taste of blood fresh from the vein, but Phil hadn’t drunk from a human in over a hundred years.  Instead, he’d learned the subtler variations in the scent of cold blood, so much so that he could spot a range of drugs, poisons and conditions without a tox screen or blood panel.

He’d gained a bit of a reputation for it, too.  It was easy to diagnose problems in live humans if they had a fresh cut or graze, but Phil mostly kept those to himself unless it was life threatening or involved a friend.  Most people didn’t like a random stranger telling them they needed to eat more iron.

“Jemma,” Phil said, stepping out of his office, the report on the blood work still in his hand.  “Could you pull out Ms Everhart’s body for me to take a look at?”

“Yes, Dr Coulson,” Jemma said.  There was something in her tone, so Phil glanced up from the report, only to find a rumpled blond man and a beautiful redhead standing beside Jemma.  Oh.

“Also, Detective Barton and his partner, Detective Romanoff, are here to see you,” Jemma said cheerfully, offering Phil a smile before disappearing further into the lab.

Phil blinked.  The name Barton might have been infamous, but Phil hadn’t expected the man who came with it.  Barton wore a leather jacket over a grey Henley, his badge visible on his belt next to his gun.  Barton’s dark blond hair stood up at odd angles, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and the scuffed combat boots on his feet were only half-laced.  He was also younger than Phil had expected -- mid-thirties at most.  Phil noted the small purple hearing aides half hidden by his hair.  In comparison, Detective Romanoff wore elegant dark slacks and a blouse under her suit jacket, although Phil noted that she, too, wore boots she could run and climb in.

“Dr Coulson,” Barton greeted with a lopsided grin.  “Thanks for seeing us.”

“Of course,” Phil replied.  “What can I help you with, Detectives?”

Barton ducked his head.  “It’s about Christine Everhart, actually,” he said.

Phil blinked, both at the coincidence and the adorable picture Barton made.  “Dr Cho actually asked me to look over the blood work,” he said.  “Do you have a problem with the preliminary results?”

Barton shrugged, and beside him, Romanoff frowned.  “Yes, with the cause of death,” she said.

Phil matched her frown.  “The initial autopsy results pointed towards a heart attack, but should I assume that you don’t agree?” he said.

“It’s not that we don’t agree,” Romanoff replied, “it’s just that Clint and I think Ms Everhart was murdered.”

“She was investigating links between several prominent businessmen and a well-known crime syndicate,” Barton added.  “And just as she’s about to break her story, she winds up dead and her notes go missing?  That’s pretty shady.”

Phil nodded.  “You may be right,” he agreed, blinking a little at Barton’s smirk.  Mentally, Phil shook himself.  He needed to get a hold of his professionalism -- Detective Barton was not here for Phil to ogle.  “I was just about to take a look at the body.  You’re welcome to join me.”

“Uh, yeah?” Barton said.  “Thanks.”

With another nod, Phil led the way over to where Jemma had pulled out Ms Everhart’s body from the freezer, Detectives Barton and Romanoff trailing behind.  Since Ms Everhart had already been autopsied, her body hadn’t been placed on an exam table and was instead lying on its tray, carefully covered by a sheet up to her shoulders.  The edges of the Y-shaped cut to her chest poked out the top of the sheet, dark against her deathly pale skin.  In life, Ms Everhart had been a pretty woman, and death hadn’t changed that.

There were no obvious marks on her face apart from the blue of her lips, and Helen had noted no cuts, abrasions or puncture marks during the autopsy.  The blood work had found high levels of both cocaine and alcohol in her blood, which could have been enough to cause a heart attack, but Ms Everhart had been young and otherwise healthy, and there was no history of heart problems in her family.  And yet, something had caused Helen to hesitate before signing off on her report, and Phil was going to trust her instincts.  Checking to see if the cause of death was correct was going to be difficult with both Barton and Romanoff watching him with sharp eyes, but Phil had succeeded in harder tasks.  No matter how much he could feel Barton’s gaze on his skin like a physical touch.

(And really, if he’d wanted privacy, Phil shouldn’t have given into temptation and offered to let them watch, should he?)

“Examination of the body showed no puncture wounds, or marks from a struggle,” Phil said, his own eyes sliding over the parts of the body he could see.  “I can re-examine the body to check if you’d like, but I suspect Ms Everhart ingested both the cocaine and alcohol voluntarily.”

“There has to be something,” Barton said with frustration.  “Can’t you check?”

Frowning, Phil glanced up at the detective, because he wouldn’t have suggested a re-examination if he hadn’t been willing to conduct it.  “I can,” he said, “but there are a few other things I might try first.”

Barton gave a short nod, clearly appeased for the moment.  Phil glanced back down at the autopsy result, flicking through the pages.  Helen had done an impeccably thorough job as always, which meant Phil’s best chance at verifying the cause of death -- or not -- would be to use his vampiric abilities.  A little difficult with two humans watching him, but not impossible.  Breathing in deeply, Phil kept his eyes fixed to the report in front of him, and tried to focus in on the scent of Ms Everhart’s blood underneath the chemical tang of the morgue and Barton’s surprisingly enticing laundry detergent.  Phil leaned a little closer to the body, as if examining something, taking another breath.

“Do you see something?” Barton asked.

Phil leaned back and hummed thoughtfully.  There was definitely something in the scent of the blood, almost drowned out by the bitter tang of the cocaine and the sour smell of alcohol.  Something almost sweet, like a flower.  Phil had smelled it before, but he couldn’t remember where.  Tasting the blood would help, even just a small sip, but Phil didn’t dare try that with the two detectives watching him.  Whatever the mystery substance was, however, Phil was pretty sure it had contributed to Ms Everhart’s death, meaning that Detective Barton and his partner were right -- it _had_ been murder.

“Do you know if Ms Everhart vomited at all during the last day or so before she died?” Phil asked, glancing between Barton and Romanoff.  “Repeatedly, not just once?”

“She was drinking pretty heavily,” Romanoff said.  “According to her best friend, she recently broke up with the guy she was seeing.”  She frowned, and turned to Barton.  “Didn’t her friend also say Everhart had been complaining of the stomach flu?”

Barton scowled.  “What?”

Romanoff didn’t frown, but something tightened in her face.  Shooting Phil a glance, she repeated the question, this time also signing the words in ASL.  Understanding lit up Barton’s face, and he nodded, digging out a battered looking notebook.  Phil watched him as he flipped through pages covered in rough scrawl.  “Uh, here.  Yeah, you’re right, Nat.  Everhart told her best friend she was feeling pretty sick the afternoon before she died,” he said.  He looked up at Phil, his eyes wide.  “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Phil said with a smile.  “It was just a hunch.”

Barton grinned back.  “Good hunch.”

“I’ll need to run a few tests before I can give you a definitive answer, but I suspect you may be right in your suspicions,” Phil said, this time keeping his face turned towards Barton as he spoke.  “The drugs might not be the cause of Ms Everhart’s death.”

Wincing, Barton glanced at his partner, who carefully signed out what Phil had just said.  Inwardly, Phil grimaced.  He should have considered that Barton might have difficulty hearing things, particularly since Phil had a habit of mumbling and not looking at people when he spoke, a result of spending half his waking hours with dead bodies.  “Is everything all right, Detective?” Phil asked quietly.

Barton bit his lip and ducked his head.  Phil caught a flash of bitterness under the embarrassment.  “Sorry,” he said, tapping his hearing aide.  “It kind of echoes in here, which makes it hard to hear.”

“Did you want to continue this discussion in my office?” Phil offered, with a glance towards Detective Romanoff.

Barton blinked as Romanoff relayed Phil’s question.  “Uh, yeah,” he said.  “If you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Phil said, inwardly frowning at Clint’s surprise.  Sometimes, the shitty behaviour of humans towards each other made Phil feel every one of his many years.  “Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Romanoff answered for both of them.

They retreated into Phil’s office, and Phil shut the door in an attempt to make things easier for Barton.  Smiling politely, Phil motioned towards the two guest chairs in front of his desk.  He was grateful that, for once, neither was covered in journal articles or paperwork.  Romanoff sat down regally, but somehow, Barton managed to sprawl across his chair like an overgrown jungle cat, his arm hooked over the back and his legs spread.

“So,” Barton said, breaking the silence that had fallen.  “Was it murder?”

“Yes,” Phil said firmly, trying not to get distracted by the way Barton’s gaze dropped to his lips.

“Do you know how?” Romanoff asked.

“I’ll need to run a few more specific tests,” Phil replied, “but there are several toxins capable of mimicking the signs of a heart attack.”  He blinked, suddenly remembering where he’d once caught that elusive mystery scent.

Oleander.

“Sorry, what?” Barton said.

Phil blinked, focusing back on the detective.  He must have whispered out loud again.  Phil was quite prone to that.  Barton was sitting forward in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowed.  “Oleander,” Phil repeated in a louder voice.  “I think Ms Everhart was poisoned with oleander.”

“Are you sure?” Barton asked.

Phil hesitated.  He was, but his vampiric sense of smell would hardly hold up in court.  “I’d need to run more tests to confirm,” he said.

Barton grinned, the expression transforming his face.  Phil’s breath caught.  “You’re sure,” Barton said, leaning back to sprawl in his chair again.  “I get it, Doc.  You don’t want to say officially until you have evidence, but you’re sure.”

The devil of it all was that Barton was right.  Phil _was_ sure.  He smiled wryly and shrugged.  “Yes,” he said.

“Maria was right about you,” Romanoff said, the corner of her mouth tilting up and her eyes shrewd.  “She said you had an uncanny gift for difficult cases.”

Phil shrugged again.  “Well, there’s not actually much else to do on the night-shift,” he quipped.  “Solving difficult cases helps pass the time.”

Romanoff smiled, and Barton chuckled.  An unaccountable warmth curled through Phil’s stomach, probably because so few people got Phil’s jokes.

“Thank you for the help, Doctor,” Romanoff said, rising to her feet.

With a puzzled frown, Barton glanced between Phil and his partner before he blinked and jumped up sheepishly.  “Right, yeah,” he said, blushing faintly while Romanoff rolled her eyes.

On impulse, Phil grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote down his private number.  Standing himself, he offered it to Barton.  “It’s my personal cell,” he explained at Barton’s raised eyebrow, grateful vampires didn’t blush easily.  “I thought a message might be preferable to a phone call?”

Barton ducked his head, hiding his face.  “Thanks,” he muttered, carefully tucking the paper into his jacket.

Phil smiled, warmth curling through his stomach again, and glanced up to find Natasha smiling approvingly at him.  “I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything,” he added.

“Guess I’ll be hearing from you, Doc,” Barton said, a smirk curving his lips.

Phil swallowed.  “I guess you will,” he agreed.

<*>

 


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Over the next few days, Phil exchanged several texts with Detective Barton after tests officially confirmed oleander poisoning as Ms Everhart’s COD.  The messages were concise and professional, but Phil couldn’t deny the lingering urge to ask Barton how his day was going, or to send him an amusing anecdote.  Despite their brief meeting, Phil found himself thinking of Barton far more often than necessary.  He was drawn to Clint Barton in a way he hadn’t been drawn to a human in decades, if not centuries, but he couldn’t deny the way his stomach and his heart gave a tug every time he messaged Barton.   The feeling was more than potentially dangerous, but Phil wasn’t sure he could resist.

Phil sighed.  This wasn’t going to end well.  Relationships -- even friendships -- with humans rarely did.  There was just something bright and addicting about Barton and his sly sense of humour that had the walls around Phil’s heart thawing.

Shaking off his thoughts, Phil huffed and stared up at the entrance to the Twelfth Precinct.  Phil didn’t have an official reason to be visiting, not really, but he’d wanted to deliver the final report on Christine Everhart’s cause of death.  It was late enough in the evening now that most of the detectives would have gone home, but in one of his texts, Barton had admitted a tendency to work late.  Phil was hoping that tonight was one of those nights.

Heading inside the precinct, Phil fished his morgue ID out of his pocket and smiled at Officer Joey Gutierrez, who was standing behind the front desk.  “Hi Joey,” he said.

“Hey, Doc,” Joey greeted with a smile.  “What’s lured you out of the morgue tonight?”

Phil shook his head at the teasing.  “I don’t care what the rumours say, I don’t actually sleep at the morgue,” he said.

Joey chuckled.  “No, but the morgue is one of your favourite places in the whole city,” he said.  “Admit it.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Phil said, but he couldn’t stop the answering smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” Joey said.  “What can I do for you?”

“Is Detective Barton still here?” Phil asked.  “I have something for him.”

Joey’s eyebrows rose slightly.  “Yeah, I think so,” he said, peering at Phil in curiosity.  “At least, I haven’t seen his partner dragging him out the door yet.”

Before Phil could thank Joey, the elevator off to the left of the desk dinged, and Detective Maria Hill stepped out.  She immediately narrowed her eyes when she caught sight of Phil.  “Phil?” she said.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Maria,” Sam Wilson grumbled, nudging her out the way before the elevator doors closed on him.  “Oh, hey Phil.”  He smiled as he wandered over, but not before shooting Maria a puzzled glance.  “What brings you down to the precinct?”

Maria snorted.  “It’s nothing good if he’s here in person,” she muttered.

Phil raised both eyebrows.  “You make it sound like I’m a harbinger of bad news,” he said.

“You kind of are,” Joey said from behind him.

Sighing, Phil arched an eyebrow.  “I’m just here to bring Detective Barton the official cause of death report for the Everhart case.”

“Oh, _really_?” Maria said.

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Don’t mind Maria, she’s had too much coffee today,” he said.  “And Barton will be happy about that.  He’s been muttering at his paperwork for the last hour.”

“Rather nice for you to drop it off yourself, isn’t it?” Maria said, biting back a yawn.

“Well, the Mayor has been trying to showcase how friendly and approachable her city employees are,” Phil replied in a deadpan tone.  “I’m just doing my part.”

Maria snorted again.  “Of course,” she said, yawning again, “because you normally have such a sunny personality.”

“Okay, Maria,” Sam said.  “Let’s stop interrogating the ME who helps solve all our difficult cases.”  He sent Phil a dry glance and shrugged.  “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go feed my partner a hamburger and put her to bed.”

“Try it, Wilson,” Maria muttered, but let Sam pull her away.

“You’d have better luck with whiskey,” Phil called out after them, making Sam narrow his eyes and throw a rude gesture over his shoulder.

(Sam was fighting a losing battle to get his fellow Detectives to eat balanced diets.  Or at least semi-regularly.)

“You can head up whenever you’re ready, Doc,” Joey said, grinning.  “The homicide bullpen is on the third floor.”

“Thanks, Joey,” Phil said, and headed for the elevator.

<*>

The third floor was almost silent when Phil stepped off the elevator, completely unlike the noisy chaos during his previous visits to see Maria and Sam.  Admittedly, those visits had been during the day, but Phil had wanted an excuse to linger and talk to Barton, and a busy bullpen would have made that impossible.

Turning a corner around a bulky filing cabinet, Phil caught sight of Detective Barton.  Just like Sam had said, Barton was hunched over his desk and his hair stood up in messy spikes, like he’d been consistently running his fingers through it.  He was wearing a purple t-shirt instead of a button-up shirt and Phil wondered if that meant that Barton had been called in early.  Barton certainly looked exhausted enough for it.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Barton snapped, but when he glanced up, he blinked, his face softening from its scowl.  “Oh, hey Doc.  Sorry.  I thought you were someone else.”

Phil took a few steps towards Barton’s desk, and this close, he could see the dark shadows under Barton’s eyes and the faint stubble covering his cheeks and jaw.  “It’s fine, Detective,” Phil said.  “I should be the one apologizing for interrupting you.”

“You can call me Clint, you know,” Barton said dryly.  “You don’t need to be so formal.”

Phil smiled.  “If you insist,” he said.  “Clint.”

Smiling, Clint reached for the mug on the corner of his desk, only to grimace after he took a sip.  “Gah, cold coffee,” he muttered.  “So what can I help you with, Doc?”

“I just came to deliver the official cause of death report on Christine Everhart,” Phil said.

“Oh, _great_ ,” Clint said, immediately dropping the file in his hand and reaching out.

Phil nodded towards the paperwork as he handed the over the report.  “Another tough case?” he asked.

“Hmmm?” Clint said, but his eyes were fixed on the report he was flipping through.  Then he blinked and looked up, and Phil could have sworn his cheeks were faintly pink.  “Sorry, Doc.  When I get tired it gets harder to hear things.  Did you say something?”

Phil smiled.  “I was just asking if you were stuck on another tough case,” he said.

Clint sighed and slumped back in his chair.  “Nah, it’s not the cases,” he said.  “I guess I’m still not used to everything.  As a detective, I mean.  Being part of the A-Team was different, and there was definitely a hell of a lot less paperwork.”  He grinned crookedly.  “Well, less paperwork for me to personally deal with, anyway.”

Despite Clint’s grin and his bright gaze, Phil caught the bittersweet thread in Clint’s voice.  Phil could empathize -- some things hurt to leave behind.

“What was it like?” Phil asked.  “Being on the A-Team?”

The A-Team, more officially called the Apprehension Tactical Team, was the best in the NYPD’s Emergency Services Unit.  The A-Team was the ESU’s only full-time tactical unit, responsible for executing high-risk warrants, SWAT and search and rescue duties.  It was an honour to even be considered for selection, but according to rumour, Clint had been impressive, even by A-Team standards.  Word had it that Clint _never_ missed.

Clint’s smile softened.  “Chaotic.  Hard.  Amazing.”

He glanced up at Phil, who shifted over to perch on the edge of Clint’s desk.  “I’d thought I’d left all the hurry up and wait shit behind when I left the Army, right?” he continued.  “But there was _so much_ in the A-Team.  Crises thankfully don’t happen all the time, and they only ever gave us the big stuff to deal with.  I thought Steve -- our Captain -- was going to go nuts the first six months on the team.  He read just about every book on leadership there was, like being in command of a special ops unit in the Army wasn’t enough experience.”  He shook his head.  “I thought Sharon was going to end up punching him.”

As Clint spoke, he emphasized his words with his hands, particularly when he was speaking about his old friends.  Phil wasn’t sure if that was just because Clint spoke ASL or something Clint had done before he lost his hearing, but it was endearing.

“And then Nat would goad people into trying to beat her doing push ups every time she got bored,” he said.  “Man, Bucky would always…”  Clint trailed off, his eyes turned sad.  “Bucky would always try to beat her.”

“Bucky was the friend you tried to save, wasn’t he?” Phil asked quietly.  When Clint snapped his gaze to Phil’s, Phil sent him an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.  I looked up your story after you came to visit me.  I was curious.”

Clint smiled wryly.  “Yeah, a lot of people are,” he said.  He sighed.  “Look, a lot of the news reports made it a bigger deal that it was.  The whole thing was… well, it was supposed to be simple.  We had reports that a pissed off chemistry professor was making homemade bombs and people were afraid he was going to start using them.”

Phil nodded, because he’d read the report on Arnim Zola and seen some of the crime scene photos.  The rigged explosives had been nasty, designed to hurt as many people as possible, and it was to the A-Team’s credit that no civilians had been hurt.

“He set off one of the barrels as we went in,” Clint continued, his eyes darkening with the memory.  “Blew out half the warehouse and set the rest on fire.  We weren’t close enough to get caught in the first blast, but the ceiling came down as we were pulling out.  Bucky got trapped under this heavy beam that shattered his arm.”

Clint glanced up, his gaze hunted and Phil’s stomach clenched.  “What was I supposed to do?” Clint whispered.  “Bucky and I went through sniper training together.  I couldn’t just leave him.”  He swallowed, glancing away.  “Only, we didn’t get out fast enough and we got caught in the explosion when the other bombs went off.  I lost half my hearing and Bucky lost his arm.”

“What you did was nothing short of incredible, Clint,” Phil said quietly.

Clint shrugged, his shoulders tense and his eyes looking everywhere but at Phil.  “I was just trying to save my friend,” he said.

“Yes,” Phil agreed.  “That’s why it’s so incredible, Clint.  Your friend was in danger and you didn’t hesitate.  Not everyone is so selfless.”

Clint’s cheeks flushed pink and he ducked his head to hide a small smile.  “Well, now that I’ve told you most of my life story, is there anything else I can help you with, Doc?” he said.  “Or should I just let you run away now?”

Phil smiled, shaking his head.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not most of your life story, Clint,” he said, “but I won’t try to pry out all your other secrets.”

He glanced down at his hands, because Phil was could hardly ask after Clint’s secrets when he was keeping so many of his own.  When he looked up again, Clint was trying to hide a large yawn and mostly failing.  “I think that’s my cue to let you go home,” he said.

“No!” Clint said, wide-eyed, and then blushed again.  “I mean, it’s been nice talking to you, Doc.”

“It has,” Phil agreed softly.

Clint yawned again.  “But, uh, maybe it is time to go home now,” he admitted sheepishly.

Phil was hopelessly endeared.  “I can make it doctor’s orders, if you like,” he said.

Chuckling, Clint shook his head.  “I’m good,” he said.  “Although, next time maybe you can tell me about how you became an ME?”

Phil’s dead heart gave a terrifying lurch.  He couldn’t exactly tell Clint the whole story, not without confessing a few other things, but he _wanted to_.  He wanted to so much.  Phil could already tell he wouldn’t be able to resist much when it came to Clint Barton, and that was dangerous.

“Or not,” Clint said, looking down at his paperwork.  “You don’t have to…”

“I’d like that,” Phil interrupted.  He repeated the words when Clint jerked his head up, just to make sure Clint had heard him.

“Yeah?” Clint said.

Phil nodded.  “Yes,” he said, rising to his feet.  “Now go home and get some sleep, Detective.”

Clint smiled.  “Sure, Doc,” he said.  “Whatever you say.”

<*>

Phil was only a few blocks from his apartment after his shift when the back of his neck prickled, a cold shiver running down his spine.  It was an uncomfortable -- and unmistakable -- sensation that had nothing to do with the cool early morning air.  Phil’s heartbeat remained calm and steady, a legacy of no longer being human, but his skin prickled and his gums itched, his fangs trying to slide out.

There was another vampire watching him.

Phil couldn’t really explain the reason why he always reacted to other vampires nearby.  His turning hadn’t really come with a set of instructions, and by the time he’d met other, older vampires, Phil had mostly learned how to take care of himself.  Although, while he might not be able to explain the biological mechanisms behind it, Phil recognized the eerie feeling.  He didn’t always react so guardedly, but there was just something off-putting about this particular vampire.  Sometimes vampires just did that to Phil, like they gave off some sort of asshole pheromone.

The sensation faded before Phil reached his apartment, so Phil shrugged it off as a new fledgling learning how to stalk and decided to try getting a little sleep.

<*>

For the next week, the same vampire kept a watch on Phil.  Whoever it was never approached, and it didn’t seem like they were ever going to, which set Phil’s fangs on edge.  The whole stalking thing was creepy, and it had Phil’s instincts flaring.  Just like all the other times, the vampire’s presence faded away a few blocks from Phil’s apartment.

He frowned.  There was something strange going on.

<*>

Yawning, Phil stepped inside his favourite hole-in-the-wall breakfast place, and was hit with a wave of noise that was more than a little startling after another long, quiet shift in the morgue.  It was only a little after nine in the morning, so Phil should have expected it.  Although, he still winced when a baby gave a piercing wail.  Spotting Doctor Helen Cho occupying one half of a small booth in the back corner, Phil headed over.  These ‘breakfast meetings’ were a semi-regular tradition Helen had instigated so that the day-shift and night-shift MEs had a chance to discuss things in a more relaxed setting than the usual chaotic change of shift handover.  Mostly, though, it was just an excuse to drink lots of coffee and eat pancakes and bacon.

“Good morning, Helen,” Phil greeted, slipping into the bench seat opposite her.

“Hey, Phil,” Helen said, smiling slightly as she put down the medical journal she’d been reading.

As always, Helen looked elegant and put-together, her dark suit understated and her hair pulled back from her face.  Her customary cup of Darjeeling tea sat by her elbow and Phil arched an eyebrow when he read the title of the paper Helen had been reading.

“I know,” Helen said when she caught where his gaze had strayed.  “The latest techniques for open heart surgery may not exactly been useful in the morgue, but I like to keep up to date.”

Helen had grown up with strict Korean-American parents that had pushed her to become a surgeon or a medical researcher.  They’d eventually compromised when Helen had become the youngest Chief Medical Examiner in New York City’s history, but Helen still kept a wide interest in medical science.

“You know me,” Phil said.  “I’m hardly in a position to judge.”

Helen smiled.  She’d seen most of Phil’s collection of old medical texts.  “I suppose that’s true,” she agreed, her dark eyes dancing.  “But your preferred reading could do with an update, perhaps?”

Chuckling, Phil shook his head.  “I think I need another coffee,” he said.  “Are Bruce and Bobbi joining us?”

Helen nodded.  “Well, Bobbi is,” she said.  “She’s running a little late, though.  Bruce decided to head straight for his office to catch up on his paperwork.  I’m surprised you didn’t see him?”

Bruce was rarely comfortable in social situations, and sometimes he preferred to hide away in the morgue.  Helen always gave him space when he was in those moods, which made her one of the best bosses Phil had ever had.

Phil shook his head.  “I didn’t,” he said.  “The morgue was pretty quiet last night, so I gave the rundown to your assistant before I left.”

Claire Temple was Helen’s main assistant and amazingly competent.  She’d briefed Phil a time or two on the day’s events when Bruce and Helen had not been available.

Helen nodded, but before she could say anything else, her attention was caught by something over Phil’s shoulder.  Phil turned, but he only got a glimpse of blonde hair before Bobbi Morse was sliding into the booth beside him.  “Sorry, sorry,” Bobbi muttered, sunglasses covering her eyes.  “My mother called to discuss the state of my love-life again.”

In contrast to Helen, and even Phil’s own slacks and dark sweater, Bobbi wore jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt under a half-zipped hoodie.  She’d had the night off, which accounted for her more casual clothes, but Bobbi didn’t need much of an excuse to wear one of her scifi tees.

Helen made a sympathetic noise.  “Is she still trying to set you up with that English guy?”

“You mean Hunter?” Bobbi said.  “Yes, unfortunately.  And I still don’t know how to break it to her that we’ve already been out a couple of times, and while the sex was great, everything else was a _disaster_.”

“Well, it might not help, but coffee and pancakes can’t hurt, right?” Phil said.

“ _Please_ ,” Bobbi said with a groan.  “And extra bacon.  Today is an extra bacon kind of morning.”

Phil smiled.  “It’s a good thing the waitress is coming then, isn’t it?” he said.

They all ordered quickly, Bobbi getting her extra bacon with her pancakes, and Helen adding strawberries and banana to her French toast.  Phil ordered an omelette for himself, preferring to eat light when he ate human food rather than blood.

As the waitress left, Phil glanced at the TV screen on the wall behind her and noticed a familiar figure on the news bulletin.  The sound was muted, but the caption proudly announced the recent arrest of Ivan Vanko.  It accompanied footage of Clint with a terrifying scowl on his face as he escorted a heavy-set man into the precinct, his partner, Detective Romanoff, a flash of red hair behind them.

“Phil?” Helen said, clearly repeating his name, and Phil blinked.

“What are you…” Bobbi began, turning to glance at the TV screen.  “Oh!  Didn’t you hear that Barton and Tasha made their arrest yesterday?  Thanks to the help of a certain ME who confirmed the cause of death was oleander poisoning.”

She nudged Phil’s shoulder with a grin.  “Apparently Vanko killed Everhart because she got in the way with a business deal he had with Justin Hammer.”  She shrugged, but her eyes were dark.  “They’ve indicted Vanko on three other murders, too.  Turns out oleander was his weapon of choice.”

“Good,” Helen said.  “And that’s Phil.  Always helpful with the weird.”

Phil rolled his eyes at Helen.  “I suppose it’s better than being known for my paperwork,” he said dryly.  “Besides, Detectives Romanoff and Barton did the actual investigating.”

“Yes.  They make a formidable team,” Helen agreed, “but don’t forget, you gave them the place to start.”

“Take the win, Phil,” Bobbi said.  “Now, let me tell you about the phone call I got from this asshole ME from Idaho…”

Phil smiled, and settled back into his seat to listen.

<*>

 


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Fighting back a yawn, Phil forced himself to focus on his paperwork as he finished his mug of O negative.  The morgue was quiet that evening, but Phil had only just finished the end of his page when Jemma knocked on his open door.  “Doctor Coulson, we’ve been called to a crime scene,” she said, her eyes a little pinched.  “The two on-call homicide detectives are already on-scene.”

Phil let out a breath, suddenly glad he’d had some blood.  Murders were never easy, but at least he wouldn’t have to fight hunger as well as his vampiric senses.  “I’ll be right there, Jemma,” he replied softly.

Jemma nodded, disappearing again.  Phil climbed to his feet, detouring into the small tea room to carefully wash out his mug.  Crime scenes, particularly the bloodier ones, tested Phil’s control, but he persisted.  The help Phil could provide far outweighed any discomfort he felt, and besides, it was his job.

Thankfully, Phil hadn’t changed into his scrubs yet, so he just grabbed his jacket and pulled it over his light blue shirt and slacks.  On the way down to the truck, where Jemma waiting, Phil had a thought.  “What do you say we take a little detour on the way, Jemma?” he asked.  “It’s the kind of night for coffee, I think.”

“Coffee, Doctor?” Jemma said with a small frown.

Phil nodded.  “For everyone at the crime scene.”

Jemma smiled.  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she agreed.

<*>

By the time they arrived at the crime scene, the street was lit up and barricaded off, with several uniformed officers keeping an eye on the few gawkers that were awake this early.  Phil climbed out of the truck, carefully balancing the take-out coffees in his right hand.  He nodded at Officer Antoine Triplett and his partner as Jemma passed Phil his bag before she moved to the back of the truck to gather the rest of the gear.  The routine was quick and familiar after two years of working with each other, and it didn’t take long before Jemma was falling into step beside Phil as they headed towards the cordoned off alleyway.

“Hey, Doc,” Trip greeted as Jemma and Phil paused at the crime scene tape.

“Hello, Trip,” Phil replied, Jemma echoing his greeting.  “Did you get called in for this?”

Trip grimaced and nodded.  “Yeah, but what can you do?” he said.

“True enough,” Phil agreed, and offered Trip one of the coffees in his tray.  “You can definitely use one of these, I think.”

Trip smiled gratefully.  “Thanks, Doc,” he said.  “You’re the best.”

Phil nodded back, happy to have made Trip’s night a tiny bit better.  “You’re welcome,” he said.

Ducking under the tape when Trip lifted it up, Phil nodded to Trip’s partner, Dan Monroe, and offered the other officer his usual hot chocolate.  Monroe took it with a small smile and a slightly teasing two fingered salute.  Phil paused just inside the tape, setting his bag down as he scanned the street for the techs working the scene.  It wasn’t hard to spot Mack’s large frame, the smaller figure of Fitz hunched over beside him.  They were both still in their forensic suits, and Fitz was looking a little green around the edges.  Even Mack looked a little grim.  Mack’s specialty wasn’t really crime scene processing, but ever since Fitz’s accident, Mack didn’t let Fitz go to crime scenes alone.

“Oh dear,” Jemma muttered quietly, before raising her voice.  “Fitz, are you all right?”

“Not really,” Fitz replied.

Leaving Jemma and Fitz to have a hushed conversation, Phil turned to Mack.  “I assume it’s a bad one?” he said in a low voice.

Mack sighed, his massive shoulders shifting with it.  “No, but it’s a weird one,” he said.  “Sorry, Doc.”

Sometimes, the weird ones were actually worse than the bad ones.  Humans could be quite creative in their methods of killing each other, and murder was never pleasant.  “Not your fault,” Phil told Mack, handing him a large peppermint tea.  “Hopefully this will help.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Mack said.

“...and we brought you some tea,” Jemma said, her voice getting louder as she turned to Phil.

Fitz perked up.  “Earl Grey?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jemma replied.  “With just a splash of milk, exactly the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Jemma,” Fitz said, latching onto the cup when Jemma offered it.

Leaving Jemma to finish her conversation, Phil stepped towards the mouth of the alley.  Almost immediately, Phil was struck by the absence of blood.  The heavy scent should have been hanging thickly in the air, tempting Phil and pulling at his control, but it… wasn’t.  The missing blood hadn’t been so easy to pick earlier, not with the cloying smells of garbage and urine filling the air and mixing in with the smokey metallic odour of the city, but it was startlingly absent as Phil stared at the body.  Ice settled in Phil’s stomach.  There were only a few ways a body could be completely drained of blood, and none of them were good.  In fact, one of them would be very, very bad.

“Spot something already, Doc?”

Phil blinked, glancing away from the body to find Clint Barton walking towards him.  Clint’s dark blond hair was even messier than the last time Phil had seen him, and he wore a grey hoodie under his leather jacket, like he’d dressed in a hurry.  Considering it was just past two in the morning, Phil couldn’t blame him.  Clint’s eyes were sharp and alert, however, just like Detective Romanoff’s as she watched Phil from the other side of the alley.

“Detective,” Phil greeted, forcing a polite smile.  The lack of blood had Phil unsettled, and it wasn’t made any easier by the elusive scent of Clint’s own blood -- coffee mixed with something sweet -- as he stopped beside Phil.  The smell was warm and rich, and Phil could almost hear it rushing enticingly underneath Clint’s skin.

Something shuttered in Clint’s expression, his smile turning brittle at the edges.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No,” Phil said, not sure what had just happened, but not wanting Clint to leave, either.  “You didn’t.”  He cleared his throat.  “I mean, I thought Maria and Sam were on call this evening?”

“Oh,” Clint said.  He shrugged, but there was still something forced about the movement.  “Nah, we swapped.  Maria has a date.”

Phil nodded, hoping this meant Maria had finally asked Sharon Carter out to dinner.  “Well, then, you and your partner are welcome to the coffees I bought for Maria and Sam,” he said, offering the tray.  “Although, I can’t guarantee they’ll be to your taste.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Clint said.  This time, his slight smile reached his eyes.  “Nat and Sam pretty much have the same coffee order.”

“That’s useful,” Phil said.  “Although, it leaves you with the black sludge Maria favours.”

Clint shrugged.  “I’ve drunk worse,” he said.  “Besides, it’s caffeinated, isn’t it?”

Phil nodded.  “It is.”  He swallowed.  “You should text me your preferred order,” he added, refusing to blush at Clint’s startled look.  “Detective Romanoff, too.  That way I’ll bring you the coffee _you_ like to drink next time.”

Clint ducked his head, hiding a smile as he took the coffee tray.  “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Swallowing, Phil tried to ignore the illusive and appealing scent of Clint and turned away to focus on the body.  The victim was a man in his late twenties, dark haired and scruffy.  His clothes were worn and moderately expensive, and judging by the watch still on his wrist, he wasn’t the victim of a mugging.

Phil was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this.

“The victim’s name is Miles Lydon,” Clint said quietly from beside Phil.  “He’s a software engineer according to the business cards in his wallet.”  He shot Phil a look, then glanced back at the body.  “This isn’t going to be a simple case of ‘wrong place, wrong time’, is it?”

Maybe not, but Phil couldn’t tell Clint that.  Not if his suspicions turned out to be true.  Phil fixed a small smile on his face.  “I’m afraid that might be your job to determine, Detective,” he said.  Phil paused, taking in the way Clint’s face had set itself into grim lines.  “You’re a good detective.  If anyone can sort this out, you and your partner can.”

Clint shot him a startled look.  Phil widened his smile a little, trying not to think about the truth behind his words.  Clint figuring out the real secret behind this crime would be dangerous, and Phil wasn’t sure he wanted to think about how Clint’s uncanny insight might prove capable.

“Doctor Coulson?  You might want to see this,” Jemma called out, from where she had started her preliminary observations by the body.

Phil ducked his head, a twinge of guilt stabbing through him at lingering too long talking to Clint.  He had a job to do.  “Of course,” he said, moving to where Jemma was crouched.

As soon as he did, Phil cursed softly.  From this angle, there was no mistaking how the victim’s throat had been torn out.  A trace of blood hung in the air, only detectable because Phil was this close to the body, but it didn’t belong to the victim.  The familiar tang sent an icy shiver down Phil’s spine.

The man had been killed by a vampire.

_Shit_.

“Sir, for a wound that size, there should be blood everywhere,” Jemma said in a low voice.  “But…”

“But it’s as if the body has been completely drained of blood,” Phil finished.

Jemma glanced at him, her eyes dark and wide.  “Yes,” she said quietly.

The icy chill spreading out from Phil’s stomach was an unpleasant, but regrettably familiar, sensation.  He tried hard to keep the supernatural mostly separate from his life at the morgue, but sometimes it collided, and in spectacular fashion.  Phil couldn’t tell yet if this was a feeding gone wrong or a calculated murder, but there was no denying that the killer was a vampire.  This was not a case the NYPD was equipped to handle.  Thankfully, Phil knew someone who was.  “Let’s get the body back to the morgue,” he said.

There was little chance the victim had been turned, but Phil would prefer to be away from prying eyes sooner rather than later.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had woken up unexpectedly as a vampire in the New York City morgue.

“I’ll inform Detective Barton,” Phil added, rising to his feet, his knees popping a little as he stood.  Eternal youth was a lovely idea, but Phil had lived for over forty years as a human before the invention of modern medicine, and vampiric powers could only do so much.  Glancing over, Phil found both Clint and Detective Romanoff watching him as they signed to each other.  Phil’s ASL was a bit rusty, but he suspected they were talking about him.  Although, considering Romanoff had just signed the word for ‘date’, Phil might be wrong.

“Bad news?” Clint asked as Phil walked up, but his attempt at humour didn’t reach his eyes.

Phil offered him a tight smile anyway.  “Nothing conclusive, I’m afraid.  I won’t know cause of death until I get the body back to the morgue.”  Phil felt a sliver of guilt at lying to Clint, but it was better than the detective getting involved with a rogue vampire.  “There is one thing I can tell you, though,” he added.  “The victim has been completely drained of blood.  I don’t know if it was before or after death, but I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Truthfully, Phil hoped the case was taken out of Clint’s hands before then -- not because Phil believed the detective wasn’t smart enough to solve the case, but because Clint _was_.  And that would only put him in danger.

Before he could leave, Clint’s hand on his sleeve stopped him.  Clint’s sharp gaze studied Phil’s face.  “What aren’t you telling me, Doc?” he asked in a low voice.  “Do you know who did this?”

“No,” Phil replied, swallowing in a suddenly thick throat.

Clint frowned, his eyes narrowed and pinched.  “Maybe I should have said ‘what did this’, Doc.”  He dropped Phil’s arm.  “I’m not stupid.”

Clint turned away, heading over to his partner, the line of his shoulders tight with anger.  Phil’s stomach clenched.  Part of it was the instinctual fear of discovery, of someone getting close to his secrets.  Yet, along with the fear was a twisting guilt at Clint’s reaction.  Both emotions were dangerous.  Clint might suspect more than he was letting on about the murder, but he still had no idea what Phil was.  And Clint finding out would not end well for anyone.  Long experience had taught Phil that.

Sighing, Phil turned back to the victim.  He had a job to do.

<*>

After they got back to the morgue, Phil sent Jemma to prepare the body for autopsy and retreated to his office to make a call.  The phone rang twice in Phil’s ear before he was greeted warmly by the voice of a very old friend.  “Phillip,” Nick Fury said.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Phil’s shoulders relaxed.  “I wish this was a social call, Nick, but I’m afraid it’s not,” he said.

Over the centuries, Nick had been many people, but first and foremost, he was one of the _venator malorum_ , warriors sanctioned by the Clan Council, the Elder Vampires of Europe, whose reach extended even to North America.  It was Nick’s job to keep the vampire world safe from human hunters -- and humanity safe from vampires.  Especially those gone rogue, or those looking to start a war.  More commonly, Nick and the other _venator malorum_ were known as ‘Bloodhounds’, a nickname that had once been an insult, but had somehow stuck.  Phil had even fought by Nick’s side once upon a time.

If they really did have a rogue vampire killing humans, it would be Nick’s responsibility to hunt them down.  Well, Nick and his fellow Hounds, Jasper Sitwell and Melinda May.  The fact that Jasper and Melinda were Nick’s lovers as well only made them stronger.  The Bond the three of them shared was both strong and beautiful to behold.  A small, selfish part of Phil was envious of it.  Not because he begrudged any of his old friends their hard won happiness, but because one day, Phil longed to have that kind of Bond for himself.

“How bad is it?” Nick asked.

“I got called out to a body tonight,” Phil said.  “The victim was early to mid thirties, caucasian male, and completely drained of blood.”

Nick was silent for a beat.  “Do we have a rogue?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Phil replied.  “There was blood under the victim’s fingernails which had a distinctly vampiric scent.  And Nick… the victim’s throat was torn out.  It could be a feeding gone wrong, but…”

“But the evidence doesn’t look good,” Nick finished grimly.

“No,” Phil agreed.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be calling with better news.”

Nick sighed.  “I’ll look into it,” he said.  “Does the victim have a name?”

Because the case wasn’t Maria’s, Phil didn’t have any case notes to flip through, but Clint had been surprisingly willing to share details at the crime scene.  At least until Phil had lied and Clint had caught it.  “According to the detectives, the driver’s license in his wallet belongs to Miles Lydon, but I haven’t confirmed that with fingerprints yet.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Nick said.  “Let me know if you find anything else.”

“I will,” Phil replied.

After setting down the phone, Phil took a deep breath.  Contrary to popular opinion, vampires still breathed -- they just didn’t have to.  Surviving without air was unpleasant, but blood alone could keep a vampire alive if they were old or strong enough.  They could also survive things that would kill a human, something Phil had been unfortunate enough to experience more than once.  He could also step inside a church, because vampires were not actually spawn of the Devil.  It was more that the early vampires were descended from an ancient war… god, who’d been long since forgotten.  Sort of.  Vampire history was complicated, and the Elders didn’t talk about it much.

Phil blew out a sigh.  His life was about to get a hell of a lot messier.  He just knew it.

<*>

After changing into his scrubs and protective gear, Phil told himself to stop procrastinating and headed over to where Jemma had carefully laid out the body on the slab.  Officially, he still needed to perform the autopsy, but there was little doubt in Phil’s mind who -- or rather _what_ \-- had killed the victim.  Letting the analytical part of his brain take over, Phil scanned the body carefully, noting the shape of the wound at the victim’s throat and the defensive marks on the man’s hands and arms.  He’d fought back, that much was clear.  Phil’s stomach clenched.  He was never sure if that made things better or worse -- some humans had an amazing survival instinct that made them fight and claw for life.  Phil had.  That was why Phil was a vampire, not dead.  Yet vampires were so much stronger than humans, and the victim hadn’t really had a hope of winning against his killer.  Phil had personal experience with that, too.

Phil sighed.  The acrid scent of vampire blood caught his attention, and Phil dutifully took samples from underneath the victim’s fingernails.  The reasons why some vampire blood smelled so awful and unappetising while some definitely didn’t was still a mystery to Phil.  There didn’t seem to be any logical connection that Phil could make, but then again, he was hardly an expert on vampires even if he was one.  He set aside the blood for testing, although any system they ran the samples through wouldn’t find a match.  Vampire DNA didn’t work the same way as a human’s.

A soft sound behind him disturbed Phil’s concentration, and he turned to catch Daisy Johnson standing in the doorway, Jemma hovering nervously at her shoulder.  Daisy looked awful -- her face was pale, and her normally warm brown eyes were stricken.  Her dark hair was messy, like she’d been running her hands through it, and she wore an oversized, ragged sweater instead of one of her sleek outfits.  “Is that…?” she started, her voice trembling.

Phil glanced at Jemma.  “Why don’t you take Daisy for a cup of tea?” he suggested, placing subtle emphasis on the words.  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Jemma said, hustling Daisy away from the exam table.

Cursing under his breath, Phil closed his eyes.  Daisy knew the victim.  That would complicate matters, and not just because Daisy was a recently turned vampire.  Daisy had crashed into Phil’s life, almost literally, when Daisy’s quest for answers about her past had led her to attempting to break into the morgue records.  Three days later, Nick had found Daisy, dishevelled and panicking after having woken up as a _vampire_.  Phil’s own entry into the undead life hadn’t been pleasant, and he and Nick had tried to help Daisy through her transition.  It had been a hard time for Daisy, but she was tough.  These days she mostly worked as a private detective with a supernatural client list or as a consultant to the NYPD  -- when she wasn’t dropping by to hang out with Phil in the morgue.

Well, she always claimed she was visiting Phil, even if she spent more time talking to Jemma.

Phil blew out a sigh.  Daisy’s connection to the case wasn’t likely to be a coincidence, not when Nick still hadn’t found the rogue vampire who’d turned her.  Finishing up as fast as he dared, Phil made sure to scrub his skin thoroughly before heading upstairs to the offices.  It wouldn’t remove all the traces of blood, not to vampire senses, but it would hopefully help.

He found Daisy leaning up against Jemma’s desk clutching a mug of tea in both hands.  She glanced up as Phil stepped off the elevator and made his way over.  “Are you all right?” Phil asked softly.

Daisy sent him a wan smile.  “Not really,” she replied.  Her gaze flickered towards Phil’s office.  “Can I have a word?”

“Of course,” Phil said.

Nodding, Daisy turned towards Jemma.  “Sorry, Jem.  I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“Yes.  That’s fine.  Take all the time you need,” Jemma said, glancing down at the files on her desk.  Phil wondered if the babbling was nerves or to hide her curiosity.  Jemma was very intelligent -- she had to suspect something was wrong, but she also had a very obvious crush on Daisy.  Maybe it was both?

Leading the way into his office, Phil shut the door and braced himself for Daisy’s questions.  “It was a vampire, wasn’t it?” Daisy asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Phil told her.  “I’ve already informed Nick.”

Daisy frowned, setting down her mug of tea as she began to pace.  “And the victim?  His name is… _was_ Miles, right?”  She sighed, closing her eyes.  “Miles Lydon?”

“Yes,” Phil said, even though technically he shouldn’t be telling Daisy any of the details.

“ _Shit_ ,” Daisy said.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Phil said, feeling completely inadequate.

Daisy blinked open her eyes.  “He was an ex-boyfriend,” she said.  “We broke up awhile ago.  Before I went all… fanged.”

Phil nodded.  Daisy had cut a lot of ties to her old life after she’d been turned, but that didn’t make loss any easier.  Phil was familiar with the gut-wrenching ache -- an ache which was only made worse by the distance that came with being a vampire among humans.

“Nick will find out who’s responsible,” Phil said.

Daisy looked up at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she set her jaw.  “I want to help,” she said.

“Daisy…” Phil began.

“No.”  A muscle in Daisy’s jaw ticked before she glanced away.  “This is my fault, Phil,” she whispered.  “Miles was looking for me.  It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Phil’s heart clenched.  “It is _not_ your fault,” he told Daisy.  Reaching out, he rested a hand on Daisy’s shoulder, and when she curled into the touch, Phil pulled her into a hug.  “It was Miles’ choice to look for you, Daisy, and it was the _rogue’s_ fault he’s dead.  None of it was yours.”

Daisy let out a shuddering breath, her hands fisted in Phil’s scrubs.  “Thanks, Phil,” she said softly.

“Come on,” Phil said, stepping back and gently nudging Daisy towards the door.  “Jemma is about to feed you all the tea you can drink, and you can both hold the fort while I sneak out to buy donuts.”

“‘Hold the fort’?” Daisy said, the corner of her mouth curling up into a small smile.  “Careful, Doc, your age is showing.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “Less of that, or I won’t buy you any donuts,” he replied.

<*>

 


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Phil stepped outside the OCME building, blinking in the sunlight as the early morning commuter rush bustled around him.  It was a little after eight in the morning, which was later than Phil usually finished his shift, but he’d wanted to go over the details of Miles Lydon’s autopsy to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.  Nick would want anything Phil could give him to catch this rogue.

Yawning a little, Phil closed his eyes and tilted his face up into the morning sun.  It was another myth that vampires burst into ash in sunlight.  It weakened them, yes, and made it harder to call up the strength and speed that came so easily at night.  At least, that was what a lot of vampires complained about when they explained why they avoided daylight.  Phil had never found the sun more than a minor inconvenience.  He worked nights because they were quieter, and he was probably going to be awake anyway.  He might as well be useful.

Sensing another vampire nearby, Phil opened his eyes and turned, just as the familiar figure of Nick Fury crossed the street to join him.  Nick wore his customary battered leather jacket which had replaced his leather trench coat sometime in the eighties.  Underneath, he wore a dark sweater and jeans, a police badge glinting on his belt.  The badge was a legacy of the special taskforce Nick had been appointed head of -- by the Police Commissioner, no less -- because Nick said it made it easier to hunt down rogues and vampiric criminals in the modern world.  It had caused a bit of a shitstorm when it happened, but the anger and rumours had mostly calmed down now.

Phil raised both eyebrows when he spotted the two tall take-out coffee cups in Nick’s hands.  “Do I want to know?” he asked.

Nick’s eye crinkled with his smile, the other hidden behind his customary eyepatch.  The eyepatch and the scars underneath were a legacy of Nick’s human days, back when he and Phil had fought and bled side by side.  “Hi, Phil, it’s good to see you, too,” he replied dryly.

“You’re bringing bribery coffee, Nick,” Phil grumbled, but he couldn’t stop his lips curving into a smile at the presence of his old friend.  “That means I get to be impolite.”

Huffing, Nick pulled the coffees out of Phil’s reach.  “Actually, this was going to be a thank you coffee because a little bird tells me the night-shift ME was working late, but if you’re going to be an asshole…”

Phil glared.  “Give me the coffee, Nick.”

Chuckling, Nick handed it over.  Phil took a large gulp of coffee, ignoring the heat, and some of his grumpiness receded.  “Sorry,” he told Nick.  “Thanks for the coffee.”

Nick nodded.  “So,” he said, sipping his own.  “Did you learn anything new about our victim?”

Phil sighed.  “Not really,” he said.  “There was enough bruising and defensive wounds to suggest he fought back, but he was overpowered too quickly for the attacker to be anyone other than a vampire.  In fact, it was almost like the rogue was even stronger than your average vamp.”

“I was afraid of that,” Nick said grimly.

Nodding his head, Nick started walking down the street towards the small park Phil liked to sit in sometimes when he needed to think.  At this time of the morning, it should be relatively deserted, which would hopefully give him and Nick a little privacy.  “So,” Phil said when they were sitting on Phil’s favourite bench.  “What exactly is it that you’re afraid of?”

Nick let out a long breath.  “Before I answer that, is there any chance our victim could have been killed by a really old and strong vamp?” he asked.

“There’s always a chance,” Phil said, running his fingers down the side of his coffee cup.  “But I don’t think so.  The killing was… messy.  Brutal.  There were echoes of rage and violence in the vampire blood under the victim’s fingernails.”  Phil glanced over at Nick, an icy shudder running down his spine.  He didn’t always get emotional echoes from blood, not when the victim was dead, but this time the anger lingered, bright and sharp.  “There was no finesse in it.  Besides, you know much older vampires like to make a ‘statement’ when they do things.”

“And this wasn’t a statement?” Nick said.

“No,” Phil said with a shake of his head.  “This was the angry removal of a problem.”

“Well, shit,” Nick replied.

They sat in silence, and Phil took the opportunity to drink his coffee before it went cold.  Nick would explain what he needed to in his own time.  Just outside the park, people walked past on their way to work, completely ignorant to the two vampires that sat among them.  There was an irony in that, somewhere, but Phil didn’t know who it was directed at -- him, or the humans.

“There’s a new drug on the street,” Nick said finally.  “I don’t know where it comes from, but it affects vampires as much as humans, and it’s got more fucked up side-effects than you can count.”  Nick huffed.  “They call it Extremis.  It gives humans the strength and speed of a vampire, along with a serious amount of rage issues.  And the vamps… well, so far, we haven’t been able to scrape together much of the addicts once Extremis gets the better of them.”

Phil blinked, his eyes widening as he stared at Nick.  “I’m guessing you don’t just mean the vampires go a little crazy, do you?”

Nick shook his head.  “I wish I did,” he said.  “Although, they also do go a _lot_ crazy.  Only afterwards, they…”  He mimed an explosion with his free hand.

“Fuck,” Phil breathed.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed.  He sipped his coffee.  “Thankfully we haven’t heard any humans doing that, so we’re tentatively calling that a vampiric side-effect.”

Phil grimaced.  “Does Maria know about this?” he asked.

Maria Hill was one of the few humans that walked amongst the vampire world.  In the old days, she might have been called a _revenant_ , denoting the trust placed in her by the vampire she ‘served’.  Nick -- and Phil -- just called her a friend.  The advantage, however, was that Maria helped Nick and Phil out with some of the more supernatural cases that crossed the NYPD’s path.

“As much as I can tell her, yes,” Nick said.  “She’s keeping an ear to the ground for me.”

Nodding, Phil glanced over at the street beyond the park.  “And this drug, you think the rogue that killed our victim is an addict of this stuff?”

“It’s possible,” Nick said.  “This stuff is hitting the streets in increasing amounts.  So far, the taskforce, even with Maria’s help, is barely keeping a lid on the weirder parts.”

“And a murder is only going to make that more difficult,” Phil said.

Nick’s mouth curved up in the hint of a smile.  “Actually, that’s one of the parts we _do_ have a handle on.  Maria helped me get the two detectives assigned to the case on my side and they’re helping out.”

Phil twisted on the bench so he could face Nick fully.  “Wait, you’ve got Clint helping you?” he snapped, his chest clenching.  The whole point of calling Nick in was to make sure Clint didn’t end up mixed up with vampires in the first place.  “He’s only a human!  Are you _nuts_?”

Nick arched an eyebrow.  “Both Detectives Barton and Romanoff have been impressively helpful, Phil,” he said.  “Not to mention persistent.  I was pretty sure Barton was going to sneak into my command center via the vents just to check out my case notes before I brought him in on this.”

Blinking, Phil stared at Nick with a growing sense of horror twisting through his stomach.  “He also has no idea what he’s up against,” he snapped.  “If he finds that rogue before you do, he’ll be killed!”

Raising both his eyebrows, Nick stared at him for a beat.  “You’re really worried about this guy, aren’t you?” he said.  “I haven’t seen you get this riled about a human in decades, if not centuries.  Not even over your favourite lab assistant.”  The corner of Nick’s mouth turned up into a smile.  “But then, I suppose Barton is determined, warm-hearted, and sarcastic as shit.  You always did have a fondness for people like that.”

Phil huffed, rolling his eyes.  “That is why I’m friends with you,” he muttered.  “Wait.”  He blinked twice.  “You _like_ Clint!”

Nick snorted.  “Of course I do,” he said.  He grinned at whatever expression was on Phil’s face.  “And for the record, I like Romanoff, too.  She’s efficient and very good with a knife.  Melinda adores her.”

Phil opened and shut his mouth.  “I just don’t want Clint -- or his partner -- to get hurt,” he finally admitted quietly.

Nick cocked his head to the side.  “Ignorance doesn’t keep people safe, Phil.  You know that,” Nick said softly.  “Besides, Barton’s smart and he knows more than he’s letting on.  I think you need to give both Barton and Romanoff a little more credit.”

“You think he knows vampires are real?” Phil said, incredulous.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” Nick said.

Letting out a long breath, Phil slumped back against the bench.  He didn’t like the way Nick was looking at him, particularly after he had confessed what had happened with Clint at the crime scene.  “So what you’re saying is that you think I should go and apologize to Clint for withholding information because I was trying to keep the existence of vampires a secret?” he said dryly.

“No, what I think you should do is apologize to Clint so that you can indulge all your overprotective tendencies and make sure he doesn’t get into more trouble than he can handle,” Nick countered, still smiling slightly.  “Of course, I also think you should ask the guy out on a date, because you haven’t had one of those in _centuries_ , Phil.”

Phil glared at his best friend.  “I’ve… dated,” he grumbled.  He was grateful it had been long enough since his last feed that he didn’t blush.  “And who said anything about wanting to ask Clint out on a date?”

Nick snorted.  “Barton is exactly your type,” he said.  “And you also knew I was talking about him before I even mentioned his _name_ , Phil.”

“I’m not so sure any of this is a good idea,” Phil said.  Getting involved with humans was messy.  If problems didn’t start because of the vast difference in age, the immortality, or the choice of breakfast food, then the rest of the vampire world intruded.

“Stop dwelling on everything that could go wrong, and live a little, Phil,” Nick said.  “You need to get out more, anyway.”

“Yeah, because nothing could go wrong about involving humans, even smart ones, in a case with a murderous rogue vampire,” Phil grumbled, narrowing his eyes.

“Well,” Nick said with a shit-eating grin that Phil had learned to be wary of.  “At least you might get laid?”

“I hate you so much sometimes,” Phil muttered, not meaning it at all.

Nick bumped Phil’s shoulder with his.  “I know,” he replied.

They sat in silence of as Nick finished the remains of his coffee.  Phil didn’t want to admit that Nick was right.  Clint was clearly involved in this case, and if Phil really wanted to protect him, lying about vampires wouldn’t help.  Nick might not have said that much, but it was heavily implied.

Finally, Nick climbed to his feet.  “I’ve got a meeting with a drug squad detective soon,” he said.  He smiled at Phil.  “Good luck with Barton.  And let me know if you find out anything else about our rogue.”

Phil nodded.  “I will.”

With a wave, Nick headed back towards the street.  Phil watched him go, before sighing and digging out his phone.  He had a call to make.

<*>

Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies in his stomach, Phil headed into the Twelfth Precinct.  His medical examiner ID got him past the fearsome day-shift desk sergeant, but he had to juggle the tray of take-out coffee and box of cupcakes he’d brought as a peace offering to press the button to call the elevator.  When he’d called her, Maria had graciously conceded Clint’s favourite coffee order -- black, one sugar and a dash of vanilla -- with only the minimum amount of teasing.  Thankfully, Phil already had Detective Romanoff’s preference, because there was only so much teasing from Maria that he could take.

“Hold the elevator!”

The voice was familiar, but before Phil could place it, Clint himself had skidded into the elevator a second before the doors closed.  His hair was rumpled enough that he might not have combed it since falling out of bed, and the purple shirt he was wearing underneath his leather jacket was creased and the buttons done up wrong.  Phil cleared his throat awkwardly, tearing his eyes away from where they’d dropped down to stare at Clint’s chest.

“Is everything all right, Detective?” he asked carefully.

Clint glanced up sharply, but dark sunglasses hid the expression in his eyes.  “Doc?” he said, his voice gravelly.  “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Clint didn’t sound particularly angry, which Phil took as a hopeful sign.  Standing this close, Phil caught the familiar rich, slightly sweet scent of Clint’s blood, but it was brighter somehow, like it was closer to the surface of Clint’s skin.  Phil dropped his gaze to Clint’s hands, finding the knuckles scraped, and unless Phil missed his guess, Clint was hiding a black eye behind his sunglasses.

Phil’s stomach clenched, but he swallowed down the worry.  “I’m actually here to see you,” he said.  “Well, you and your partner.  I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

Clint’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses.  “So you brought us coffee and… cupcakes?” he said, obviously reading the side of the box.  “Bribery, Doc?”

“I prefer to think of it more as a peace offering,” Phil said, “but yes.”

The elevator dinged, the doors opening onto the noise and chaos of the homicide bullpen.  Since it was now about nine thirty in the morning, most of the other detectives were already at their desks.  That included Maria, who peered at Phil around her computer screen, a smirk on her face.  Detective Romanoff had looked up at their arrival, too, and was watching Phil with cool eyes and a blank expression.

Clint tugged gently on Phil’s arm, guiding him off to the side behind the break room and away from prying eyes.  “This apology,” Clint said.  “Are you going to mean it?”

Phil blinked, surprised at the direct question and the steel behind the words.  “Yes,” he said firmly.  “I am sorry about what happened…”

“That you lied,” Clint said flatly, cutting him off.

Phil swallowed.  “There are parts of my life that I cannot be entirely truthful about, Detective,” he said.  “Not because I don’t want to be, but because it’s dangerous… and complicated.”

Clint was quiet, and Phil had the impression that Clint was searching his face from behind his shades.  “Your life, huh?” he said finally.  “Not just the case?”

A shiver ran down Phil’s spine.  Clint was far smarter than he liked to appear, and Phil might just have made a tactical error, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  Clint was someone Phil could see himself sharing a great many of his secrets with, if only Phil was that lucky in his life.  He didn’t delude himself into thinking that he had either Clint’s friendship or trust yet, but perhaps in time he might have a chance to gain them.

“Okay,” Clint said, a wry smile curving his lips.  “I’ll let you keep your secrets, Doc.  For now.”  He glanced down at the box Phil was still holding.  “So what kind of cupcakes did you bring to bribe me and Nat with, anyway?”

“Blueberry, with lemon and cream cheese icing,” Phil said.  He held out the tray of cups.  “I brought you coffee, too.  Maria said it was your favourite.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, taking the coffee.  His eyebrows rose again when he took a sip.  “Damn.  If you’re not careful, I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment every time you come to visit.”  Then, as if realizing what he just said, Clint’s cheeks flushed pink.  “I mean, _if_ you come to visit again?”

Phil smiled, warmth curling through his stomach.  “I could be persuaded to visit from time to time,” he said.  “As long at it wouldn’t be disturbing you?”

Clint snorted.  “Cupcakes are never a disturbance, Doc,” he said.  He reached out to grab the cupcake box with his free hand.  “The only challenge is stopping Nat from eating them all.”

He moved to slip past Phil, but Phil reached out a hand to stop him.  “Is everything all right, Detective?” he asked quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Clint growled.

Phil raised an eyebrow.  “Well, I can’t help but notice that your knuckles are scraped raw,” he said dryly.

Clint huffed.  “I knew I should have taped them or something,” he muttered.  He sighed.  “It’s just an annoying group of dudebros from an old case that call themselves the Tracksuit Mafia.  I’m fine.”

Phil nodded.  He felt like there was more to the problem than that, but Clint had let him keep his secrets, so Phil could hardly do less than let Clint keep his.  “Well, I’m here if you need me,” he said.

Clint smiled softly.  “Thanks, Doc.”

“Hey, Barton,” a voice called out.  Phil turned to find a dark-haired detective leaning against the nearby wall, smirking at him and Clint.  The smirk had a mean edge to it, and there was something coldly calculating in the detective’s eyes that Phil didn’t like.  “Are you actually going to do any proper police work today?”

Clint tensed, his jaw clenching hard as if he was biting back an angry retort.  “I am, Rumlow,” he called back.  “Why do you think I’m talking to the ME?”

Rumlow snorted, his gaze flickering over Phil.  “This is our ME?  I thought she was a chick?” he said.

“That would be Doctor Cho, our Chief Medical Examiner,” Phil said, his tone reverting back to the overly formal politeness he used on vampires that he didn’t like.  “I run the night-shift.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes in response.  Inwardly, Phil frowned.  The name Rumlow was triggering a faint echo of a memory in the back of his mind.  He’d have to talk to Maria about it later.

Reluctantly, Phil stepped out of the nook he and Clint was standing in to let Clint head back to his desk.  He was surprised when Clint nudged him forwards, too, but then Phil was still holding Detective Romanoff’s favourite tea.

“You’re not still working on that mugging, are you?” Rumlow said as they passed him.  “It’s easy.  Your vic was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Case closed.”

Phil eyed Rumlow as he walked past the other man.  He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something… off.  Then Phil’s lungs froze, his steps faltering, as he caught a trace of a bitter, familiar smell.   _Vampire blood_.  There could be a logical, perfectly reasonable explanation of how an NYPD homicide detective had come into contact with vampire blood -- New York was a big city, and Phil was not the only vampire who’d made his life here.

It just seemed a little too convenient.

“Are you okay, Doc?” Clint asked in a low voice.

Phil didn’t want to lie -- not right after he’d apologized for the first time.  He shook his head slightly.  “Not here,” he said.  “Secrets.”

Clint frowned, but he didn’t push.  Instead, he turned to his partner with a slightly forced grin.  “Look who turned up bearing gifts, Nat,” he said.

Detective Romanoff arched an elegant eyebrow, her gaze sharp.  “Doctor,” she greeted coolly.

“Detective Romanoff,” Phil replied.  “I brought you a cup of tea?”

Nerves rippled through Phil’s stomach as Detective Romanoff studied Phil before accepting the offered cup.  Even without Maria’s warning, it was obvious that Romanoff was wary of Phil, just as it was obvious that she was very important to Clint.  “Thank you,” she said.

“He also brought cupcakes, but those you have to _share_ , Nat,” Clint added, protectively holding the box to his chest.

The corner of Detective Romanoff’s mouth curved up into a half-smile.  “Then you shouldn’t take so long to eat your half, Clint,” she said.

Frowning, Clint set down his coffee so he could reach into the bakery box and pull out a cupcake.  He didn’t quite cram it into his mouth all at once, but it was close.  Then he groaned, and Phil was forced to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Shit, these are _awesome_ ,” Clint said.

Phil cleared his throat as subtly as he could manage.  “A friend of mine found the bakery,” he said, thinking of Jasper’s glee at being able to indulge his sweet tooth with treats he hadn’t deemed ‘inferior’.  “I can also recommend the black forest cake.”

Detective Romanoff arched an eyebrow as she gracefully rose to her feet.  Clint hugged the bakery box closer to his chest, but Romanoff just rolled her eyes.  Then her hand snapped out, a cupcake appearing in her hand like magic without even smearing the icing.  Phil had to admit he was impressed, and Clint’s answering squawk and flail was hopelessly endearing.

“They _are_ good,” Romanoff said, taking a dainty bite.  She glanced at Phil with her shrewd gaze.  “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Phil said, grateful that Romanoff had let him so easily off the hook.  He had no doubts that she protected Clint fiercely and was far less willing to forgive transgressions against him than Clint himself.

Detective Romanoff smiled faintly.  “You can call me Natasha if you like,” she said.

Phil inclined his head.  “Natasha,” he said.

She smirked when Phil’s gaze almost immediately strayed back to where Clint was watching them both from behind his sunglasses, the box of cupcakes still hugged close to his chest.  There was a faint smear of icing at the corner of Clint’s mouth, and Phil was surprised by his sudden urge to lean forwards and lick it away.  He swallowed.  “I should leave you to your work, detectives,” he said.

Clint nodded.  “Guess I’ll catch you around, Doc?” he said.

Phil nodded, his lips pulling up into a smile without Phil really trying.  “You know where to find me, Clint,” he said.

<*>

 


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Phil was still thinking about his conversation with Clint -- and the discovery that Rumlow was working with vampires -- as he headed back to his apartment.  Phil was inclined to dislike Rumlow solely because of the way his comments had made Clint duck his head and hunch his shoulders, but there was more going on.  A NYPD detective like Rumlow shouldn’t regularly come into contact with vampire blood, not enough to carry the scent as strongly as he had.  Vampires didn’t tend to associate with humans, not unless humans were their servants or _revenants_ , and if Rumlow was serving a vampire master, things were not going to end well.

Not to mention that Phil’s gut was warning him that Rumlow and the rogue Nick was hunting were only the beginning of something _a lot_ bigger.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Phil headed for the nearest subway station.  He needed to feed, and if he wasn’t going to be sleeping like he should, he was going to need coffee as well, and he needed to be home for that.  Phil might have given up his rogue hunting days two centuries ago, but he remembered how to track down shadows and hunt secrets.  It wasn’t just a skill he’d used as a vampire, either.  Hopefully, he could start to piece together what was really going on.

A moment later, Phil jerked his head up, his senses suddenly jolting with the presence of another vampire.  A very _familiar_ presence.  Scanning the crowd around him, Phil held onto his control with an iron grip.  He could hardly go into full-vampire mode on a street filled with humans -- not without causing a panic -- and Phil had learned the benefits of being underestimated a long time ago.

Breathing out, Phil kept walking, but the feeling of the other vampire persisted.  Taking a chance, Phil ducked into a nearby alley, hoping it would encourage the other vampire to come closer.  By nature, most vampires were territorial and rarely approached each other without an express invitation.  Not unless they were looking for a fight.

“Hello, Phillip.”

Phil froze, ice sliding down his spine.  He’d hoped _never_ to hear that voice again, not for the rest of his eternal existence.  “Garrett,” he breathed.  “I thought you promised that I’d never have to see your face again?”

He turned, and the dark figure standing at the end of the alley stepped forward.  Garrett had changed in the century since Phil had last seen him, but his oily presence was unmistakable.  Garrett’s hair was shorter now, and he wore jeans and a black shirt under a jacket, but even though he wasn’t obviously armed, Phil refused to let his guard down.  Not after last time.

“Is that any way to greet your favourite cousin?” Garrett said, smirking at Phil because the bastard had always enjoyed reminding Phil of his mistakes.

“What do you want?” Phil snapped.

Garrett’s smirk widened.  “Well, I see the centuries have had a startling effect on your manners,” he said.  “To think, you used to be so unfailingly polite.  Even after I shot you.”

The bullet had hurt, but being a vampire had meant it was hardly fatal.  It was Garrett’s manipulation of old friends and the humans Phil had gotten close to that had hurt worse.  Part of Phil still regretted not killing Garrett when they’d both been human.  “If that’s all you came to complain about then you can leave again,” Phil said coldly.  “This is your last chance, Garrett.”

“Aww, Phil, you wound me,” Garrett sneered.  “And here I am, trying to give you a friendly warning.”  His eyes had always been cold, but now Garrett’s gaze turned to ice.  “Get your two precious humans to drop the case they’re working on, or something terrible might happen to them.  Remember Akela?”

Phil’s stomach clenched.  Garrett was a sick son of a bitch and sadly, it wasn’t always Phil who’d paid the price for Phil’s mistakes.  “I remember,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good,” Garrett said.  “Get them to close the case on the mugging and they both might just live through this.”

Phil took a deep breath, but before he could reply, Garrett was gone.

<*>

Phil was still shaking from a combination of fear and anger when he got back to the safety of his apartment.  His place wasn’t fancy, not compared to the home of his childhood, or even the various penthouses and mansions most vampires favoured, but it was _safe_.  Phil had made sure of that.

Tugging out his phone, Phil dialed Nick’s number.  “Nick, we have a problem,” he said as soon as Nick picked up.

“Phil, what is it?” Nick asked, his tone serious.  He could probably hear just how shaken Phil was.  Garrett’s reappearance had undermined his calm more than he was comfortable with.  “Do I need to send Melinda for backup?”

“No, I’m fine,” Phil replied.  “Or I will be.”  He took a deep breath.  “Garrett’s here.  In New York.”

Nick was silent for a beat.  “What do you _mean_ Garrett’s in New York?”

“I mean exactly that, Nick,” Phil said softly.  Nick had known Garrett when they were both human, too, and he’d also been there when Garrett had betrayed them both.  If it had been up to Nick, they would have hunted Garrett down centuries ago, consequences be damned.  “He came to see me.  He wants me to warn Clint and Natasha off the case involving the rogue vampire.”

“Shit,” Nick cursed.  “That means…”

“That Garrett is probably involved in whatever this is,” Phil finished.  “Yes, that thought had crossed my mind, too.”

Nick cursed again, this time in a mixture of French and Middle English.  Phil smiled faintly despite himself, because sometimes it was nice to hear the language spoken during his childhood.  “Look,” Nick said finally.  “Get some sleep, okay?  I’ll get Jasper to try and track Garrett’s movements.  At the very least, I’m going to make it very difficult for him to ambush you again.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Phil said quietly.

“That’s what I’m here for, old friend,” Nick replied.

<*>

Phil woke up about six hours later, just as late afternoon was turning into evening.  As a vampire, he’d never needed much sleep, but regardless, he always woke up at sunset.  Or, rarely, at sunrise, as if his body was keyed into the sun’s progress across the sky.  It didn’t even matter what continent Phil found himself on, either, and he’d never entirely figured out why.

Since it was his night off, Phil didn’t bother changing out of his sweats and old t-shirt when he got up.  Instead, he padded through to the kitchen to heat a mug of blood up in the microwave, because it tasted slightly better than way.  Modern conveniences really did make things so much easier.  Once he was done, Phil settled on the couch with one of his favourite books.  The first edition of _Pride and Prejudice_ raised a few eyebrows when visitors saw the three volumes on his bookshelf, but Phil had always been fond of romance stories.  Particularly since he’d had the honour of meeting Jane Austen herself during her life.  Besides, the first editions of Jane Austen’s works were no less strange than some of the old, original medical texts he also kept, or the original illustrations by Andreas Vesalius that Phil also had scattered about his apartment.  They weren’t the extent of Phil’s collection -- he kept most of that in a vault in a highly secure Swiss bank -- but they were his favourites.

Phil had just reached the account of Darcy’s first, disastrous proposal when his personal cell rang.  Phil tensed at the loud noise, and huffed.  He was being ridiculous.  “Hello?” he said, wondering if it was Nick calling with news.

“Hi Phil,” Helen Cho’s quiet voice greeted him.  “I’m sorry for calling on your night off, but I was wondering if you could do me a favour?”

Phil glanced at the clock.  Helen was working late, which meant Bobbi should have arrived for the night shift.  Unless something was wrong.  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s not serious,” Helen said.  “Sorry.  Bobbi got stuck in traffic, but I don’t need you to cover her shift.  I actually wanted your help with some blood work.”

His eyebrows went up.  Helen sounded hesitant, which was unlike her, and she was calling on Phil’s night off rather than waiting until he was back on shift tomorrow night.  It could be nothing, but Phil didn’t think it was.  “Of course,” he said.  “I’ll grab a cab and be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Helen said.  “I owe you.”

“Just buy me a coffee some time and we’re even,” Phil said.

“I can do that,” Helen said.  “In fact, I’ll have one waiting for you when you get here.”

Phil smiled.  “And people wonder why you’re my favourite ME,” he said.

Helen snorted delicately.  “Please,” she replied.  “I’m your favourite because I give you all the difficult cases.”

“Well, there’s that, too,” Phil agreed.  “But the coffee helps, I promise.”

Helen laughed.  “Just get here, Phil,” she said.  “Or I’m solving this without you.”

<*>

Phil was cautious as he made his way down to the OCME building, keeping his senses alert for nearby vampires, but nothing set off his instincts.  Phil hoped that was a good thing, but with Garrett still on the loose, it probably wasn’t.  Garrett was _very_ good at manipulating people and situations to suit his own ends.  It might have been almost seven hundred years since Phil first learned that lesson, but it wasn’t a lesson he was ever likely to forget.

Sighing, Phil pushed away his dark memories as he stepped into the morgue, because he had other things to worry about.  Unlike his brethren, Phil had never tried to hide from humanity after he’d been turned into a vampire.  If anything, he’d made sure to stay close.  Living beside humans reminded Phil that while he might have been a vampire, he didn’t have to be a monster.  That drive to protect, instilled in Phil during his life, was what had led him to become _venator malorum_ and ultimately, a doctor.

The morgue was surprisingly busy for this time of the night.  Dr Claire Temple, Helen’s chief assistant, gave Phil a harried wave as she rushed passed, and Bobbi and Lincoln were already dressed in scrubs and heading for the autopsy room.

“Phil, thanks for coming,” Helen said, and Phil turned to see her stepping out of her office.

She, too, was dressed in scrubs under her white coat, but she was also holding Phil’s promised coffee.  Phil took the cup when Helen offered it, and nodded to the chaos.  “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Three bodies just came in,” Helen said.  “It looks like they were victims of some kind of explosion.”

Phil grimaced.  Explosions made anyone in law enforcement especially nervous, and City Hall would be breathing down everyone’s necks until the threat had been mitigated and the case solved.

“Do you need me to scrub in to help?” Phil offered.

“No,” Helen replied, although Phil didn’t entirely get the reason for the huff that followed.  “Bobbi has got it handled.  Besides, you spend too much time at work as it is, Phil.”

Phil raised both his eyebrows, because no one worked harder than Helen.

Helen rolled her eyes.  “Stop giving me that look,” she said.  “At least I have a cat.”

“Of course,” Phil said dryly.  “That makes all the difference.”

“Oh, shut up,” Helen said, but she failed to entirely hide the smile tugging at her lips.  “Come on.  I have that blood work I wanted you to have a look at in my office.”

Helen shut the door behind them, and Phil blinked.  Usually, Helen preferred her door open, even when she was muttering dire threats over her paperwork.  “So what did you need me to have a look at?” Phil asked.

Waving Phil into the chair in front of her desk, Helen pulled out a file from the stack to her left.  “I want to know what you think of this,” she said.  “The victim was a white male, aged in his mid-thirties.”

Nothing about her tone indicated the case was any different to any others Helen has asked Phil to look over, but nevertheless, Phil found his shoulders straightening under Helen’s gaze, the last of his humour falling away.  He set his coffee down on the edge of Helen’s desk and opened the file.

It wasn’t unusual for Helen to not give Phil many details of the crime or the victim when she got him to look over blood work.  As hard as they tried, sometimes it was impossible for MEs not to make assumptions that could cloud their conclusions.  Sometimes, without even realizing it.

Phil hummed thoughtfully as he scanned the results, his eyebrows rising when he spotted what Helen had clearly been waiting for him to catch.  “Elevated levels of foreign proteins?” he said, glancing up.  “They couldn’t be identified?”

Helen shook her head.  “No one at the lab had ever seen anything like them before,” she said.  “There were no indicators of illness, either.  No weird enzymes, and his white blood count was within normal range.”

Frowning, Phil glanced over the report again, but there was nothing to indicate a problem other than the high levels of foreign proteins.  “So, what?” he said.  “He ingested whatever it…”  He trailed off, something in the numbers catching his eye.  “Wait.”

“You’ve got something?” Helen said.

“Maybe,” Phil said, because the high levels of iron and copper in the victim’s blood might be more than just an indication of diet.  “Is there any way I can see the body?”

Helen let out a breath, smiling faintly.  “I should have known you’d ask that,” she said.  “And of course you can, but there’s a few things I should tell you first.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Phil said.

“It isn’t,” Helen said.  She let out a sigh and passed Phil the rest of the autopsy file.  “The victim’s name is Eric Savin.  He was head of security for Aldrich Killian.”

Phil blinked.  “Aldrich Killian, the CEO and founder of Advanced Idea Mechanics?” he said.

Helen nodded.  “The one and the same,” she replied.

_Shit_.  That wasn’t good, and not just because A.I.M. was a multimillion dollar company that employed hundreds of people across New York City.  Killian -- and A.I.M. -- had been the subject of corruption rumours for years, and some even said they’d been named in a recent investigation into a criminal conspiracy by an unnamed journalist.  A journalist whose notes had never surfaced, leading most people to believe she’d been the recently deceased Ms Christine Everhart.

The bad feeling in Phil’s stomach got a little heavier.

“Does Savin have a confirmed cause of death?” Phil asked, flipping to the appropriate page of the report.

“Actually, that’s part of the problem,” Helen said.  “I haven’t been able to confirm anything yet, which is why I wanted your help with the bloodwork.”

A quick scan of the report proved why.  Savin had suffered from multiple injuries at time of death, including blunt force trauma, but there was something about the injuries set off an itch at the back of Phil’s mind.  Savin hadn’t fought back against his killer either, and for a man with military training, that was a red flag.

“Is City Hall giving you a lot of pressure on this?” Phil asked.

“No, but Killian’s lawyers are,” Helen replied.  “They’re demanding that Savin’s body be released.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose.  “That’s interesting,” he said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Helen said.  She stood up and gestured to the door.  “Come on.  I’ll show you the body.”

<*>

A shout caught Phil’s attention as he stepped out of Helen’s office, and he glanced up.  Maria Hill was striding down the corridor towards him, a frown on her face and dark shadows under her eyes.  Even her hair was less neat than usual, although Phil hesitated to call it messy.  Phil opened his mouth to greet her, but words failed him when he spotted Clint Barton instead of Maria’s usual partner behind her.  Clint was just as exhausted as Maria, and there appeared to be a small coffee stain on the front of his grey shirt.

“Coulson.  Dr Cho,” Maria said, her voice clipped.  “Please tell me you have something on the cause of death for the Savin case?”

Helen frowned faintly.  “As I said on the phone, I can’t confirm anything yet,” she said.  “Look, Detective, why don’t you get some sleep and check back in with me in the morning?”

Maria let out a loud sigh and rubbed a hand over her face.  “Maybe I should,” she said.  “If you’re sure you don’t have anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Phil told her after a glance at Helen.  If Maria was being this stubborn, things were bad.  “Helen and I are going to work on it, but _only_ if you promise to get some sleep.”

Maria huffed.  “You sound like Sam,” she said.

Phil smiled wryly.  “That’s because we’re your friends.”

He glanced towards Clint, who had been remarkably quiet during the conversation.  Phil wondered if he’d have to issue another order about getting adequate rest.  Clint’s eyes flicked up to Phil’s when he caught Phil looking, the tops of his ears turning red.  Had Clint been staring at Phil’s jeans?  Phil supposed they were a bit odd compared to what he usually wore to the morgue, but maybe not weird enough for staring?

(Although, honestly, after centuries of changing fashions, Phil could be wrong.  Gods knew he still had a soft spot for breeches and cravats.)

“And how can I help you, Detective Barton?” Helen asked, breaking into Phil’s spiralling thoughts.  “I wasn’t aware you were also assigned to the Savin case?”

“Uh, I’m not?” Clint said, with a quick glance at Maria, who signed an explanation in a few, concise words.  “I just caught a lift over with Maria.  I was hoping to grab the preliminary findings on the victims of the explosion?  The Captain’s got everyone available working on it.”

Phil winced.  That sounded like Clint was in for a long night.  Maybe he should swing by the precinct with coffee when he was done with Helen?

“I’ll see what Dr Morse and her assistant have, Detective,” Helen said.  “Phil?”

Blinking, Phil nodded.  “Right,” he said.

Helen subtly raised her eyebrow at him, laughter dancing in her dark eyes.  It was possible Phil might have been staring at Clint.  Phil ignored her.  “Maria,” he said with a nod.  “Clint.”

“Coulson,” Maria said with a smirk, while Clint just waved shyly.

Gods, that man was unfairly adorable.

Thankfully, Helen waited until the doors to the autopsy room had closed behind them before she spoke.  “Phil, is there something I should know?” she said.

Phil tried to brazen it out, doomed to fail as he might be.  “No,” he said.

“So that _wasn’t_ you trying to flirt with Detective Barton?” Helen said.

“I… Helen…” Phil stuttered.  He huffed, giving up.  “Was I?”

“Maybe a little,” Helen said, trying to fight a smile.  “You kept glancing at him, anyway.”  She winked at Phil.  “You should try it more often.  He’s cute.”

Phil let out a breath, but didn’t reply.  Flirting with Clint was a _bad idea_.  Instead of explaining that, however, Phil turned to the row of stainless steel autopsy tables in an effort to change the subject.  Bobbi and Lincoln were tidying up their equipment next to the body at the far end, and two more body bags were waiting for them on the other tables.  Another body, this time covered up to the neck by a white sheet, waited on the table closest to Phil.  As always, the scents of formaldehyde and other preserving chemicals were thick in Phil’s nose and he breathed out shallowly between his teeth until he got used to the smell.

“Hey, Phil,” Bobbi called out, looking up.  “So, who’s cute?”

Phil sighed.  His colleagues were the _worst_.

“Detective Barton,” Helen replied.

Bobbi grinned.  “Oh, yeah.  Great ass,” she agreed.  “He looks even better with his shirt off.”

Phil clenched his jaw, a spike of jealousy spearing through his stomach which was just _ridiculous_.  “Can we…” he began.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Phil.  It’s not what you think,” Bobbi broke in, flashing Phil a teasing grin.  “I saw him shirtless at a crime scene, once.  Back when he was part of the A-Team.”  Her grin broadened.  “You should totally ask Barton to show you his tattoos.”

(That was… Phil was _definitely_ not thinking about that.)

“That’s nice,” Phil said, attempting a dry tone.  He mostly succeeded.  “But how about we focus on the dead bodies instead of Detective Barton’s?”

“I agree with Doctor Coulson,” Lincoln said loudly.

“Okay, okay,” Bobbi said.  “I was just having a little fun.”

Wordlessly, Helen led Phil over to the lone sheet-covered body and Phil pushed all non-work related thoughts out of his mind.  He could dwell on them later.  Right now, he had a case to focus on.  Savin’s face was pale, causing the bruises to stand out starkly against his skin, particularly when Helen pulled down the sheet to reveal the body’s chest.  Even bisected by the Y-shaped incision from the autopsy, the bruises were quite dramatic.  It almost looked like someone had beaten Savin to death, but there was surprisingly little swelling around the injuries, and like Helen had already recorded in the report, almost no defensive wounds.  Phil couldn’t imagine someone like Savin going down without a fight.

“Most of the bruising occurred around the time of death,” Helen said softly.  “But I don’t know what caused it.  It didn’t come from a normal fight, or any kind of machine or object I can think of.  Whatever did that to him was either very big or-”

“Very strong,” Phil finished for her.

Leaning forward under the pretext of looking closer at one of the bruises, Phil sent out a prayer to a God he no longer believed in that this wasn’t what he thought it was.  Breathing in deeply, Phil stretched out his vampiric senses and tried to filter through the scents still clinging to the body.  Underneath the traces of dank water and garbage, Savin’s blood was bright and sharp even hours after death.  Phil caught a trace of fear from it, the emotion strong enough to linger, but it was overlain by the nauseating clash of _vampires_.  

And not just one vampire.   _Multiple_ vampires.

Phil bit back a curse.   _Shit_.  Whatever had killed Savin was strong and fast, which made a vampire the obvious murderer, but Savin’s blood hadn’t been drained.  This wasn’t a feeding gone wrong, or a hunter that had killed its prey.  And it wasn’t like most vampires to hunt in packs, either, which made the multiple scents of vampire blood on the body especially confusing.  Particularly since it wasn’t the result of Savin having spent time around multiple vampires.  It was the scent of the _blood_ of multiple vampires.

Phil _really_ didn’t like where this was going.

“Were the internal injuries -- caused by whatever resulted in that bruising -- enough to cause death?” he asked.

“Most likely,” Helen agreed.  “But I’m still worried about those proteins found in his blood work.  I’ve never heard of anything like it, but maybe they’re part of a drug that incapacitates his victims?  It would explain why Savin didn’t fight back, but…”

“But?” Phil prodded when Helen fell silent.

Helen sighed.  “But that still doesn’t explain _how_ he got those bruises,” she said.  “The fracture pattern from his injuries doesn’t match what would happen if he’d been dropped from a significant height.  Or for something heavy to have been dropped _on_ him.  The only thing that I can think of that fits is if someone lifted him up and slammed him into a wall.  Except, for that to kill him…”

“His murderer would have to be more than twice as strong as a human,” Phil finished.

“Which is impossible,” Helen added.  “Unless you know something I don’t, Phil.”

Oh, Phil knew _a lot_ he hadn’t shared with Helen, but thankfully this time there _was_ something he could share.  “It might not be impossible,” he said, looking up.

Helen frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“I have a friend on the taskforce dealing with that new drug going around.  Extremis,” Phil said.  “And he warned me that one of the side-effects of Extremis was increased strength.  It might be a long shot, but it could explain things.”

Amusement flashed across Helen’s face.  “Isn’t Detective Barton on that taskforce?” she said.

“He is, but believe it or not, he’s not where I’m getting this information,” Phil replied.

Helen sobered.  “So you think whoever killed Eric Savin is an Extremis addict?” she said.

“Yes,” Phil told her.  He actually suspected a lot more than that, but those suspicions were something he wanted to share with Nick first.  And if his instincts were right, the shit was about to hit the fan, as it were.

“All right,” Helen said.  “I’ll put in a call to Captain Fury and get him to send one of his detectives down for my report.”  She turned to pull the sheet up over Savin’s chest again, but then she paused.  “The proteins in Savin’s blood… you don’t think…?”

“That they’re…” Phil began, but the words dried up in his throat.

_Par le sang de Dieu_.

Extremis.   _Extremis_ was being made out of _vampire blood_.  Just when Phil hadn’t thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“I better put in that call to Captain Fury,” Helen said.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.  He needed to make a call to Nick of his own.  “Good idea.”

He followed Helen as she walked to the door, waving absently at Bobbi and Lincoln as he left.  His mind was still reeling with the implications of his discovery, even though he couldn’t prove it.  Not yet, anyway.  Hopefully, it would be easy enough to convince Nick to run a few tests on any samples of Extremis he’d managed to recover.

“Phil?” Helen said quietly when she stopped in front of her office.  “Thanks.”

Phil smiled, but he couldn’t find the voice to reply.  Instead, he nodded back and headed for the exit.  He needed to go home.  He needed to call Nick.  He needed… Hell, at this point, Phil had no idea what he needed.

He just knew that very soon, things were going to get a lot worse.

<*>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Par le sang de Dieu -- By God’s blood. 1400s French swearing.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

The next week was surprisingly quiet.  So quiet, in fact, that Phil spent most of his nights waiting for the other boot to drop.  Nick had run tests on the few samples of Extremis that his taskforce had managed to collect, and just like Phil had suspected, the base ingredient seemed to be vampire blood.  As far as Jasper could tell, the vampire blood was what gave the human addicts their enhanced strength and speed, but nothing about vampire blood should have made the vampires that ingested it _explode_.  Phil had requested his own sample of Extremis to run tests on, but so far he wasn’t having any more luck than Jasper.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped his thoughts chasing themselves around and around his brain until Phil was dizzy.  He’d eventually given up and turned to one of his much loved books as a distraction.  Except tonight not even the wonderful familiarity of _Persuasion_ was enough.  Phil’s mind kept dancing back to thoughts of Extremis, which was possibly only slightly better than when they drifted to Clint.  Perhaps reading a romance novel as a diversion hadn’t been Phil’s wisest choice, considering how many parallels Phil was drawing between himself and Anne Elliot right now.

(The similarities between Captain Wentworth and Detective Barton were also striking in a way they’d never been before, Phil was certain of it.  But then again, he’d always had a fanciful imagination.)

Not that Phil was imagining all of it.  Clint had a dedication and a loyalty that was obvious to anyone who’d watched him solve a case.  Or saw how he treated Maria, Sam, and especially Natasha.  There was no denying that Clint had more than his share of painful memories lurking behind his eyes, but he never let them slow him down or detract from what he was trying to achieve.  Something about Clint just drew Phil in, even when he was trying to pull away.  It was more than Clint’s handsome face or sharp mind.  There was just something indefinable and _bright_ about Clint that called to a longing and a hope buried deep within Phil’s chest.

A knock at the door broke into Phil’s thoughts.  Blinking, he glanced up from his book.  The knock had definitely come from his apartment door, rather than the buzzer outside, but when Phil stretched out his senses, he couldn’t find the presence of another vampire anywhere close by.  He did, however, catch the faint scent of blood.  A familiarly rich and slightly sweet scent that Phil had smelled before.

Clint.

The thought of ignoring Clint never crossed Phil’s mind, and he put down the book and rose to his feet on instinct.  The scent of Clint’s blood was thicker at the door, and Phil was already frowning by the time he opened it.  “Clint?” he said.  “Are you all right?”

Clint blinked, failing to hide a wince as he pushed away from where he’d been leaning against the wall beside Phil’s apartment door.  Phil took the opportunity to look Clint over, and his heart squeezed in his chest.  Clint’s henley was dotted with smears of dried blood, and a dark bruise was spreading across Clint’s cheek.  His nose was swollen, too, dried blood still crusted where Clint had failed to wipe it away.  One of Clint’s arms was curled protectively around his stomach, and the knuckles of both hands were scraped raw.

“It looks worse than it feels?” Clint said, but his attempt to smile was more of a grimace, so Phil wasn’t inclined to believe him.

“Is that possible?” Phil said stupidly.  He gave himself a mental shake, and had to bite back the immediate urge to pull Clint into his arms.  “Nevermind.  Come in, come in.”

Phil fought a blush, his skin still flushing easily after his recent feed and his thoughts of Clint refusing to leave him alone.  Now was _really_ not the time.

Phil stepped back to let Clint in, not missing how Clint almost stumbled as he did.  Yet, despite his injuries, Clint still glanced around Phil’s apartment, even as his jaw clenched.  Phil wasn’t really sure what Clint saw -- Phil’s apartment was modestly decorated, as befitted someone on a medical examiner’s salary.  With the exception of Phil’s bookcase, which was his one indulgence.  At best, Phil’s apartment could be described as _comfortable_ , which usually suited Phil just fine.  He wasn’t sure why he suddenly had the urge to show Clint a grander testament to his wealth, like the literal _castle_ of his youth.

(Okay, so Phil was well aware of _exactly_ where this recent urge was coming from, and it was paying little attention to logical facts such as that the castle he’d grown up in actually belonging to his long-dead uncle, that same castle being currently little more than a ruin, or that Phil had _clearly lost control of his mental faculties_.)

When Clint hid another wince, Phil sighed.  Clearly, Clint was hurt more than he was willing to let on, and Phil had no idea why Clint had turned up on Phil’s doorstep instead of going to a hospital.  Breathing in, Phil tried to be subtle as he used his vampiric senses to check if Clint was bleeding internally.  Thankfully, the answer to that appeared to be no.

“So,” Phil said, because they might as well get a few things out in the open.  “How badly are you hurt?”

Clint winced again.  “It’s…” he began.

“Something you really should have gone to a hospital for?” Phil interrupted.

“No hospitals,” Clint said firmly.  “I… it’s not that bad, but I don’t want anyone to make a big deal of this.”

There was definitely something behind Clint’s request, but Phil could interrogate him about it _after_ he fixed up Clint’s injuries.

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom,” Phil said.  “You might want to take off your jacket while I fetch it.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Clint said, his shoulders relaxing.

Phil mostly kept his first aid kit on hand for the few times he’d diagnosed an injury by the scent of blood and the person involved not minding treatment.  Up until recently, that had really only meant Maria or his neighbour’s six-year-old son.  Phil didn’t need it for himself -- he healed most non-fatal injuries quickly enough.  Even those fatal to a human rarely took longer than a few hours.  One of the advantages of vampirism, if not the reason for the illusion of immortality.

When Phil returned to his small living room, first aid kit in hand, Clint was reaching up awkwardly with his left hand to pull off his henley.  He was trying not to jostle his right shoulder any more than he had to, and Phil changed the diagnosis of Clint’s suspected bruised ribs to a _definitely_ bruised shoulder.

Phil frowned when Clint finished easing his shirt off.  Clint’s shoulder was already showing the signs of being a spectacular shade of purple by the morning, and evidence of other recent injuries spotted Clint’s golden skin.  Some of the bruises were older and faded, some fresh, and Clint had a nasty cut along his right forearm that seemed shallow, but was still slowly oozing blood.

Breathing out carefully, Phil swallowed down the anger twisting through his stomach.  He’d been a doctor for a long time and he’d sworn more than one vow to heal, not harm, but there was a part of Phil that would always be the warrior and soldier he’d been when he was alive.  The warrior who had been _venator malorum_ for almost a four centuries.  And right now, that part of Phil was urging him to hunt down those who had hurt Clint and _make them pay_.

The injuries were not the only marks painting Clint’s skin, but they were making it difficult for Phil to appreciate the beautiful ink tattooed across Clint’s left shoulder and upper arm.  The hawk was clearly recognizable, but drawn as if painted by watercolours, bright bursts of colour surrounding it.  Whatever it represented to Clint, it was clearly important, and Phil longed to hear the story behind it.

When Phil finally tore his gaze away from the tattoo, he was momentarily distracted by Clint’s naked chest and defined muscles.  Even the silver scars crisscrossing his golden skin didn’t detract from the sight.  The thick scent of Clint’s blood in the air was making it hard for Phil to focus, too.  It rushed enticingly under Clint’s skin, sweet and _alive_ , and Phil’s stomach cramped with a hunger he had not felt in decades, if not longer.  His gums itched for a small taste, a tiny sip, but Phil ruthlessly held back his instincts.  He had sworn that he would not feed on humans anymore, not unless expressly invited, and _that_ was not a conversation to have with Clint when he was tired and hurting.  If _ever_.

“I hope you don’t mind Star Wars band-aids,” Phil said in an attempt to distract himself.  “My neighbour’s son is a fan, and he’s usually the only one who needs them.”

“Star Wars is cool,” Clint said with another attempt at a grin.

Letting out a shallow breath, Phil braced himself because he had to ask.  “Clint,” he said, setting the first aid kit on the coffee table.  “I’m going to respect your request not to go to the hospital, but I have to ask: who did this to you?”

Clint huffed, closing his eyes and suddenly looking _exhausted_.  “I can’t prove anything, but I’m pretty sure the thugs that ambushed me tonight were sent by Rumlow and his partner, Rollins.”

Phil frowned.  “Rumlow and Rollins?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Clint said, opening his eyes again.  There was a heartbreakingly weary sadness in his gaze that made Phil want to hug him all over again.  “They’re cops.  Detectives.  You met Rumlow that time you brought Nat and me cupcakes.”

Rumlow.  The detective that had smelled like vampire blood and made Clint hunch his shoulders with his snide comments.

Clint shrugged and then winced.  “I mean, I’m also pretty sure they’re both corrupt as fuck, but…” he said.  “Like I said, I can’t prove anything.”

Phil nodded, because Clint needed him to, but even so, he made a mental note to talk to Nick about Rumlow.  If he was corrupt _and_ working with vampires, he was very dangerous.  “You might want to sit down for this,” Phil told Clint.

“Oh, right,” Clint said, glancing at the couch and hesitating.

“Don’t worry about the couch,” Phil said.

Clint carefully perched on the edge of the cushions, and Phil sat down next to him and opened the first aid kit.  Gently, Phil cleaned and disinfected the gash on Clint’s arm, but thankfully, it didn’t look like it needed stitches.  Instead, Phil carefully taped a thick layer of gauze over it, his fingers lingering on the warmth of Clint’s skin as he smoothed down the tape.  The muscles in Clint’s forearm were strong and firm, and dotted with tiny silver scars that Phil couldn’t quite place the origin of.  It was probably lucky that after so many years as a doctor, Phil’s fingers could operate without conscious input from his brain.  “You’ll need to keep an eye on that, but I think it should heal just fine,” he said.

“Thanks,” Clint said, the pain making his voice rougher than usual.

Phil nodded back.  “There’s not much I can do for your shoulder, though,” he said.  “If I offered you a sling, you’d probably refuse, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed with a ghost of a smile.  “Probably.”

“I’ll wrap it, anyway,” Phil said.  “Just take it easy for the next week, will you?”

Clint nodded, biting his lip.  “Look, Doc, I just… thanks,” he said.  “I owe you one.”

Phil smiled, although it was difficult sitting so close to Clint’s enticing scent and golden skin.  Phil wanted so badly to _touch_ , to bury himself in everything Clint would let him have.  Snapping back to himself, Phil abruptly rose to his feet.  His gums itched fiercely, his fangs threatening to descend so he could get just a tiny little taste of Clint’s blood.  Gods, Phil hasn't been this out of control in _centuries_.

“I should put things away,” Phil said, struggling for his usual calm and not daring to look Clint in the face.

“Doc,” Clint said quietly.  He’d risen to his feet when Phil hadn’t been watching, and he reached out a hand and laid it on Phil’s forearm before Phil could flee.  The warmth of Clint’s skin on his sent a shiver down Phil’s spine.

“ _Phil_.  I mean it,” Clint continued.  “Thank you.”

Phil glanced up, helpless not to, and found himself caught by the swirls of green and blue in Clint’s eyes.  Clint stepped forward, close enough that he could feel the warmth of Clint’s breath on his cheek.  The addictive rush of Clint’s blood rushing under his skin and the steady thump of Clint’s heartbeat filled Phil’s ears.  Before he could stop himself, Phil swayed forwards, desperate to touch.  He shouldn’t, not only because of the consequences, but he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried, and Clint was moving, too.  The hard press of Clint’s lips against his was a little awkward and still shocking, but Phil sank into the heat of Clint, helpless to resist.  Clint’s free hand came up to cup Phil’s cheek and he gentled the kiss into something soft and sweet and so full of promise.

A million words and emotions crashed through Phil like a blow from a broadsword, but Phil had no idea how to voice any of it.  This was spectacularly bad timing -- Clint was _hurt_ \-- and there were still far too many secrets between them.  It didn’t matter how addicting this taste of Clint was, or how something deep inside Phil’s chest was unfurling at how _right_ it was to have Clint in his arms.  He couldn’t do this to Clint.

“Sorry,” Phil whispered hoarsely, pulling back.  “I can’t…”

He trailed off, unable to choke out the rest of the words with Clint staring at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks.  Then, it was as if a shutter came down over Clint’s face and he raised both his eyebrows, a smirk that rang hollow curving his mouth.  “You don’t need to get so twisted up over a kiss, Doc,” he said.  “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Clint’s delivery of the words was casual, his loose posture feigned very well if it was feigned at all, but there was still something _off_ about it all.  A tension that was matched by the brittle flash of sadness in Clint’s eyes, barely there and gone just as quickly.  It was almost enough to think Phil was just projecting his own feelings, but he _wasn’t_ , was he?

“But it _does_ mean something,” Phil said in frustration before he could stop himself.  It absolutely meant something, which was why all of Phil’s secrets were twisting guiltily in Phil’s chest like a knife.

Phil sighed.  “I’m sorry, Clint.”

“So am I,” Clint said, the stiffness that hadn’t been there before suddenly tightening his shoulders and spine.

He pulled on his shirt and jacket with sharp, jerking motions and Phil let him.  Just like Phil let Clint walk out, Clint sending him a short nod before he disappeared out Phil’s door.  Closing his eyes, Phil blew out a shaky breath as Clint’s bright presence faded away.  It was for the best.  Falling in love with a human never ended well.  The agony of letting Clint walk out of his life didn’t matter.

If only Phil hadn’t gone and fallen most of the way in love already.

<*>

“So…” Nick said, peering at Phil over the diner table.  “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Phil sighed.  He’d invited Nick out for coffee and pancakes for the exact reason of telling him, but now he couldn’t get the words out.

“Ah,” Nick said.  “This is about Barton.”

Phil shot him a disgruntled glare.  “You can be annoyingly perceptive sometimes, you know that?” he said.

Nick smirked at him over the rim of his coffee mug.  “No, Phillip, I’ve just known you for centuries,” he replied.  “So what did you do?”

“Something very stupid,” Phil said with another sigh.  He stared down at the cracked formica tabletop.  He’d been kicking himself for the last few days over his behaviour that night with Clint, but he had no idea how to make it _right_.

“How stupid?” Nick asked.

Wincing, Phil glanced up.  “I might have kissed him, and then told him I shouldn’t have,” he admitted.  “I just… I couldn’t do that to Clint before he knows the truth.  About what I am.”

Nick huffed.  “What you are is a man with an honourable streak two leagues wide,” he said dryly.  “I remember how it got you into trouble when you were human, too.”

Phil shot his old friend another glare, because he didn’t need Nick’s wry humour right now.  “Nick…” he said.

Nick raised both eyebrows.  “So just tell him,” he said.

“Really?  Just like that?” Phil arched an eyebrow.  “What do I do?  Invite him over for coffee and just blurt it out?”

“Well, you could,” Nick said.  “Or you could maybe try being a little more smooth.  I know that’s hard for you.”

Phil huffed.  “Shut up,” he said.  “Just because you, Jasper and Melinda sorted out all your problems centuries ago…”

“Yes, by _talking_ ,” Nick said.  “You should try that.”

Closing his eyes, Phil tried to imagine what it would be like.  To confess his secrets and his past to Clint.  Would Clint really be able to accept him after he knew?  And if he did, would the fifty or so years Phil got to spend with Clint be enough to last the empty centuries that would follow?  Just because human life was so short in comparison to his was a bad reason to avoid all relationships, but Phil was beginning to think he wouldn’t be able to let Clint go when the time came.  And if he couldn’t do that, would Clint really want to be turned, to become a vampire?  Or would that be asking too much?

“Hey,” Nick said gently, his hand covering Phil’s and giving it a squeeze.  “You okay?”

Blowing out a breath, Phil opened his eyes.  “Not really,” he replied truthfully.

Nick studied his face.  “You know, I’ve never seen you this drawn to _anyone_ before,” he said.  “Not even Jimmy Woo, or that insufferable Lord Falsworth.”

Phil smiled a little at the mention of two of his previous human lovers.  He’d loved them both in his way, but as incredible as both men had been, Phil had never felt for them what he was starting to feel for Clint.  “You never did like James,” he said.  “He was more than his title, you know.”

Shrugging, Nick sipped his coffee.  “And I told you years ago that you’re the only aristocrat I’ve ever liked,” he said.  Nick let the humour fade from his face.  “You should still talk to Clint, though.”

“I’ll think about it,” Phil promised, because that was all he could do right now.  He glanced down at his watch.  “I need to head off to my shift, anyway.”

Nick nodded, his expression almost uncharacteristically solemn.  “I know I’m pushing you about this, Phil, but I’m here for you.  However you need me.”

Phil attempted a smile.  “Thanks, Nick,” he said.  “I know.”

“Good luck,” Nick said as Phil stood, tossing down bills to cover his part of the breakfast.

Phil nodded.  He was going to need it.

<*>

After his shift, Phil headed back to his apartment.  He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell Clint, but Nick was right.  He should.  No matter the outcome, Clint deserved a better explanation about why Phil had pushed him away.  Of course, that led to the question of where to have that kind of delicate conversation.  Both the precinct and the morgue were out for many reasons, but Phil wasn’t sure inviting Clint to his apartment was much better.  Maybe if he visited Clint?  At least that way, Clint could kick him out if he didn’t like what Phil had to say.

About a block from his apartment, an oily shiver skidded down Phil’s spine and he froze, immediately stretching out his vampiric senses.  There was another vampire nearby.  Unless Phil was mistaken, it was the same vampire that had been watching him a month or so ago.  Phil scanned the shadows around him, but nothing moved.  Just as he was about to turn and hurry back to his apartment, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of the mouth of an alley into the light.  Inwardly, Phil raised an eyebrow, because nobody did ‘unnecessarily dramatic’ like vampires.  “Can I help you?” Phil said, as calmly as he could.

The vampire was handsome in a very pretty way, with artfully messy dark hair and impressive cheekbones.  He wore a dark coat and black clothes underneath, which was perhaps a little melodramatic, but it shouldn’t have raised Phil’s hackles as much as it did.  There was just something… _unsettling_ about this vampire.  Like a darkness that surrounded him, masked by his pretty face, and it made Phil’s fangs itch.

“You know, I still can’t believe that _you’re_ Coulson,” the vampire said, his voice dripping disdain.

Phil narrowed his eyes.  “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Well, aren’t you just in a bad mood,” the vampire replied.  “Where are your manners?”

Before Phil could reply, the vampire _moved_.  He was fast and strong, and Phil crashed into the wall of the nearby building less than a second later.  Pain radiated up his spine, the vampire’s hand squeezing around his throat and lifting Phil off his feet.  Phil raised a hand, more concerned in getting leverage to free himself, because he didn’t exactly need to breathe, but a sudden sharp, stinging pain in his chest had him freezing.  Looking down, Phil’s stomach cramped when he saw the large needle sticking out of his chest, exactly above his heart.  A large, _empty_ needle.

The vampire abruptly let go of Phil, letting Phil drop down to his knees, his legs suddenly incapable of holding him upright.  Blinking as his vision blurred, Phil tried to shake off whatever the vampire had dosed him with, but whatever it was was too strong.  “What the hell did you do to me?” he growled, his voice rough.

“Something Garrett doesn’t have the _balls_ to do,” the vampire replied, anger and a dash of insanity lighting his eyes.  “He doesn’t want to kill you, but he’s blinded by his past.  He can’t _see_ what’s right in front of him.”

“And what’s that?” Phil grit out, his head swimming sickeningly.

Snarling, the vampire surged forwards and grabbed Phil by the throat again, yanking Phil up until he was right in Phil’s face.  “That you’re not the great myth everyone says you are.  You’re just a pathetic human lover.”  He bared his fangs at Phil.  “Daisy shouldn’t be turning to _you_ for protection.  She should be turning to _me_.  She’s _mine_.”

Suddenly, several things slotted into place in Phil’s mind.  This was the vampire that had attacked and turned Daisy, who’d changed her life so completely with his anger and, apparently, a large dose of creepy possessiveness.  Phil struggled weakly against the vampire’s grip, but he was too far gone, the effects of the chemicals in whatever he’d been given ravaging his body.

“I’m going to take Daisy away from you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” the vampire said, and with his free hand, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a long sword.

Phil tried to move, to block the strike he knew was coming, but he couldn’t.  The vampire was too strong, and Phil was too weak.  He gasped as the vampire viciously stabbed him in the stomach, his hands instinctively coming up to cradle the wound as hot blood spilled out from between his fingers.  The wound wasn’t fatal, not for a vampire like Phil, but it was still agony, throbbing in counterpoint to his slowing heartbeat.  Phil was barely aware of someone shouting from nearby, calling out Phil’s name, but his legs wouldn’t obey his commands.  Sound drifted away, merging into an indistinguishable mess of noise, and colours faded in and out of his vision.  Vaguely, Phil was aware of the vampire fleeing and his mysterious rescuer running forwards, but then the ground was reaching up to meet Phil.  The last thing Phil registered before the darkness swallowed him whole was a part of strong arms catching him before his face hit the ground.

<*>

 


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Phil blinked awake, drawing in a sharp gasp of air as his lungs began working again.  It was a sensation Phil had _never_ gotten used to, no matter how long he’d been a vampire.  There was just something that would forever be disconcerting about almost literally _coming back to life_.

(It was creepy.   _So_ creepy.)

Snapping open his eyes as memory assailed him, Phil winced as the world sprang into focus and made his head throb in agony.  There’d been a vampire.  He’d injected Phil with a syringe of… something, and then stabbed him with a great big sword.  That had definitely happened.  Something else teased at the back of Phil’s mind, but he couldn’t entirely pin it down.  At least he wasn’t lying in the street.  That was probably a good sign?

He was definitely in a bed.  The mattress was soft beneath him, as were the blankets covering him, although Phil was vaguely embarrassed to find his jeans had been replaced with soft pajama pants.  His entire body ached like he’d been run over several times, proving that whatever had happened to him hadn’t entirely healed yet.  Hopefully that meant he hadn’t been out of it for very long and he was still just a little weak from whatever that bastard of a vampire had injected him with.  A mixture of silver and sedatives, maybe?

(That vampires were vulnerable to silver was one of the few things supernatural lore had gotten right over the years.)

Phil’s hand came up, almost involuntarily, to rest over his heart, but there was no wound.  Although given the amount of blood he’d lost thanks to being stabbed, he should probably be feeling a lot worse.

Frowning, he blinked up at the ceiling.   _The scent of sweet, life-giving blood pulsing beneath golden skin, tempting and undeniably seductive.  A muscled forearm beneath his hands, wracked with a shiver as Phil stroked the tender, vulnerable skin at the wrist.  Phil’s fangs sliding into warm skin and the explosion of rich blood over his tongue, pleasure bursting over his already sensitive senses and rolling down his spine.  The brief flash of desperate want spiraling through him as he drank, heightened by the emotions of the man he was feeding from._

Clint.  He’d bitten _Clint_.

With a curse, Phil surged upright, pain exploding in his head and his vision turning hazy at the sudden movement.  Blinking, Phil tried to focus on the richly decorated bedroom he found himself in as his eyes sought the one thing he wanted to see -- but he was completely alone.  Throwing back the sheets, Phil tried to stand, only to have his legs crumple under him as his weakened body failed to take the weight.  Groaning, he gripped the edge of the bed and tried to get his body to cooperate.

“Easy, Phil,” Nick said as strong arms helped him back up onto the bed.  In his dazed state, Phil hadn’t even sensed Nick enter the room.

“Nick?” he said.

“It’s me,” Nick replied.  “You’re safe.”

“How?” Phil asked, _needing_ an explanation, even as he let Nick prop him up with a mountain of pillows.

Sighing, Nick sat down on the edge of the bed.  Now that Phil’s mind had caught up with him, he recognized the room as a guest bedroom in Nick’s townhouse on the Upper East Side.  His shoulders relaxed, because he really was safe.  Nick smirked at him.

Reaching back, Nick picked up a goblet from a nearby table and held it out to Phil.  The scent of blood made Phil’s stomach cramp painfully, and he accepted the goblet gratefully, hating how weak he felt.  “Drink, Phil,” Nick said.  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

Phil nodded, because his memories had told him that much, thanks.

When Nick just raised an eyebrow at him, Phil huffed.  He drained the goblet of blood, far thirstier than he’d thought he was, even if the blood was cold and clearly not Clint’s.  Which was _not_ something he should be thinking.  Gods, this wasn’t good.

Phil waited a beat for his hunger cramps to lessen and handed the goblet back to Nick.  “So?” he said.

Nick glanced down at the goblet in his hands and closed his eye.  Straightening, he turned back to Phil.  “It was Clint who found you,” he said.  “He was apparently heading to your apartment to see you when he stumbled across someone stabbing you through the chest with a sword.  And instead of calling an ambulance, he called me.”  Nick offered Phil a wry smile.  “I didn’t end up having to tell him much.  He’d put most of it together before I even got there.  I think he was actually coming to talk to you about it.”

Phil blinked.  He was having trouble following what Nick was saying.  “What?” he said.

Smiling wryly, Nick shrugged.  “Clint knows you’re a vampire.  That we’re both vampires,” he said.  “I think he’s encountered our kind before, because he wasn’t all that surprised by the revelation.”

Phil pushed himself up, but a glare from Nick had him sagging back into the pillows.  “Where is he?” he asked.

“Sleeping,” Nick said.  He glanced at the door, and then back to Phil.  “You weren’t in great shape when I found you, and…  well, he offered to let you feed from him.  Your wound wasn’t healing and you were very weak, so I let him.”

Phil closed his eyes.  “Yeah, I remember,” he said.  “A little, anyway.”

And it wasn’t _fair_.  He’d bitten Clint and would face the consequences of that, but he didn’t even get to _remember_.  Not more than a few flashes, anyway.  That was like suffering from a hangover without the fun of getting drunk beforehand.

Nick blinked.  “You do?” he said.  “You were kind of out of it.  I’m surprised.”

Phil scowled.  “And yet, you let me bite Clint anyway?”

“Clint is _fine_ ,” Nick said, rolling his eye.  “He offered and what was I going to say?  No, Phil can keep bleeding to death in your arms, it’s fine?  If you had been anyone else, Phil, you really would have been dead.  For good.”  He sighed.  “You didn’t actually take that much blood from him, and it helped, okay?”

Relenting, Phil offered Nick a small smile, because really.  Nick had saved his life.   _Again_.  He should probably be a lot more grateful for that.  “Thanks, Nick,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Nick said.  “Although, you should probably thank Clint, too.”  He smirked.  “Possibly while not wearing any clothes.”

Phil glared.

Nick grinned.  “Come on, Phil.  He _knows_ now.  And he’s still here.  That means you get to try kissing him again,” he said.  “Although, maybe apologize for how last time turned out first.”

“Really?” Phil said flatly.  “That’s your advice?”

Nick raised an eyebrow.  “You want advice?” he said.  “How about: you’re a strong and courageous man, Phillip of Brittany and Valois, but sometimes courage isn’t about facing down an army, it’s learning to love again even when the thought scares you to death.”

Phil opened his mouth, but he was speechless.  Nick didn’t do it often, but sometimes he could peer right into the heart of what was bothering Phil and force it into the light.  Closing his eyes again, Phil sighed.  “Even if I lose him in fifty years?” he said.

“Even if you lose him tomorrow, Phil,” Nick said gently.  “You and you alone have to decide if love is worth it.  If _Clint_ is worth it.”

Phil swallowed heavily, and by the time he opened his eyes again, Nick was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

<*>

The next time Phil woke up, it was to the sound of someone entering his room.  Opening his eyes, he turned as Clint pushed open the door.  Clint looked good.  A little pale, perhaps, but his eyes were as sharp as ever and there was a faint flush to his cheeks.  He wore sweatpants under a large purple hoodie and in his hands, he held two mugs.  Phil very much hoped they held coffee.  Phil winced a little when he caught the hint of white bandage wrapped around Clint’s left wrist.

Clint paused in the doorway when he noticed Phil was awake, and waved hesitantly with a finger since his hands were full.  “Hey,” he greeted, his voice rough.

“Hi,” Phil replied, pushing himself up so he was sitting up as much as the mountain of pillows would allow.

“I brought you some more blood,” Clint said, sounding only a little awkward about it.  That was okay.  Phil was feeling awkward enough for both of them.  What exactly did you say to someone you’d kissed and who’d recently found out you were a creature of the night?  None of Phil’s childhood etiquette lessons had covered that.

“And you should probably know that Nick left,” Clint added.  “He said we could stay as long as we needed to and that he’d fix the paperwork so we didn’t have to worry about work.”

“Thank you,” Phil said.

Clint nodded.  Blinking a little, he stepped forward and offered Phil one of the mugs he’d brought.  From the smell, the one Clint kept _was_ full of coffee and Phil was irrationally disgruntled by that.  Clint smirked at him, so some of his feelings must have shown on his face.  “I’ll fetch you some coffee later,” he said.

Phil offered him a smile, but chose not to say anything.  Instead, Phil drank the blood Clint had brought, because he really did need it.  For his part, Clint hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to the door.  If that was also the furthest from Phil that he could get, well, Phil shouldn’t take it personally.  Clint had every right to be hesitant now that he knew what Phil was.  Phil just hoped Clint wasn’t scared of him.  The fact that Clint seemed happy enough to be in the same room as Phil pointed in favour of him not being scared, but Phil wasn’t counting that as concrete evidence.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Clint said, his eyes sharp.  “Being a vampire?”

Phil blinked.  He’d always imagined more shouting when Clint found out.  He bought himself a little time by draining his mug of blood and setting it on the bedside table.  “Well, yes?” he said.  “Or rather, for not telling you what I am.”

Rolling his eyes, Clint pulled his leg up on the bed and shifted closer.  “You don’t need to look so shocked.  I worked out what you are _before_ you got all bitey,” he said.  He looked Phil right in the eye.  “I told you I wasn’t stupid.”

“No, you’re incredible,” Phil said.  Then he ducked his head, fighting a blush, because while that was the truth, he hadn’t intended to _actually say that_.  Phil cleared his throat.  “I should also apologize for biting you.  I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Clint snorted, but his eyes danced with amusement.  “I did offer,” he said.

“Yes, but…” Phil started.

“Phil,” Clint interrupted.  “Are you going to be this difficult about _everything_ now?”  When Phil didn’t say anything in reply -- not that Phil had an answer -- he shrugged.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Phil replied quietly, warmth slowly growing in his chest.

“So,” Clint said, drawing out the word.  He stared down at his coffee cup before looking up again.  “Can I ask how… well, what…”

“How I became a vampire?” Phil finished for him when Clint fell silent again.

Clint nodded.  “Yeah.”

Phil breathed out.  “To understand that, you should probably know that I was born the illegitimate son of Philip of Valois in 1325,” he said.  “And in 1328, when I was three, my father became King of France.”

Blinking, Clint stared at him wide-eyed.  “1325?” he echoed.  “But that would make you…”

“Almost seven hundred years old, yes,” Phil said.

“Fuck,” Clint said.  “You’re like an actual _prince_.”

Phil couldn’t stop the smile at Clint’s tone, because Clint might have been shocked, but it seemed as if it was the potential wealth that was the more curious part of Phil’s secret, rather than the fact he was more than several centuries older than Clint.  “Not quite,” he said.  “I was only the illegitimate son of a king, so I never actually got a royal title.”

“Damn,” Clint said with a ghost of a smirk.  “Guess you don’t have crown jewels stashed away somewhere like a dragon, then.”

Shaking his head, Phil chuckled.  “Sorry, no,” he said.  “I seem to prefer hoarding books.”

Clint cocked his head, considering.  “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, but then the humour faded from his face.  “So what exactly happens to an illegitimate prince?”

Phil shrugged.  “I think that depends on politics.  For me, I was raised by my aunt, my father’s sister, Isabella of Valois and her husband, the Duke of Brittany,” he said.  “Despite everything, John was a good man.  He had no children of his own, but he raised me like a son.”  Phil swallowed, briefly shutting his eyes against the dark memories that came after his childhood.  “You have to understand, I was born just before what they now call the Hundred Years War, and I was illegitimate, but I was still the son of a king.  My uncle did his best, but his half-brother wanted his title, and when it looked like John would petition the crown -- my father -- so that I could inherit the Duchy, I became more than just an open secret.  I became a threat.”

“How old were you?” Clint asked softly.

Phil breathed out, and for a moment, the weight of his years settled across his shoulders.  “I was sixteen when my uncle died and his half-brother tried to steal his title, sending the entire duchy into war,” he said.  “And I was twenty-one when that war spread wider.  I was a soldier more than I was ever a Duke, no matter how my uncle had raised me.”

He smiled.  It was small, but genuine, because for all the hardship the war had offered, there had been bright moments, too.  “That was how I met Nick, actually.  He was working as a mercenary when I was fighting in Gascony.  He was a bastard son, too, and we bonded over it.”

Phil glanced over at Clint, trying to gauge Clint’s reaction.  “I’m sorry if this is too much of a history lesson…”

“No,” Clint said.  He set his coffee mug down on the floor and moved so that he could reach out and cover Phil’s hand with his own.  “I want to hear this.  What happened next?”

Phil ran his free hand over his face.  “The king actually supported my claim to my uncle’s title and lands, believe it or not,” he said.  “He wasn’t a cruel man, just a man of his time.  And having me as Duke of Brittany would have kept the territory allied to France, which was a good strategic decision.”

“But it wasn’t as easy as that,” Clint said.

“No,” Phil agreed.  “No, it wasn’t.  My uncle’s half-brother still wanted the lands and he infected his son with the same obsessive coveting.”  Pausing, Phil swallowed down the icy chills of the memory of his cousin -- of John Garrett’s -- first betrayal.  Even after all the centuries, it still hurt.  “But I did my best to protect the people of Brittany and those that tried to help me.”

Clint shifted again, and despite Clint’s hand still covering Phil’s own, Phil wasn’t sure if he should reach out and pull Clint closer.  No matter how much his heart ached to just hold Clint for a while.  “Of course you did,” Clint said.  “I can see that, you know.  You, sacrificing everything you had to, just to keep people safe.”

Phil looked away, because he’d been there.  He’d seen exactly what his actions had led to.  “It wasn’t as noble as that,” he said.

“Yes, it was.  You’re a good man, Phil,” Clint said.  He cleared his throat, as if tried to break some of the tension hanging thick in the air.  “So how did you end up all… fanged?  Was it your uncle’s half-brother who turned you?”

“Not directly, no,” Phil said.  He kept his answer simple, hoping that would keep some of his memories hazy.  He didn’t want to remember what that bastard had done to him, or the misery of those last few years of life.  His turning hadn’t been pretty or clean, not like in the movies, and his household hadn’t been as lucky as him.  “John de Montfort, my uncle’s half brother, and his son hired someone to kill me and anyone close to me.  And a few nights before my forty-fourth birthday, someone broke into my house and slaughtered everyone in my household.  Including me.”

Clint was silent, and Phil winced, because he probably should have phrased that better.

“ _Jesus_ , Phil,” Clint breathed.  “That’s…”

Clint’s eyes were dark and full of pain when he glanced up again, and that was Phil’s undoing.  Before he could stop himself, he’d climbed over and gathered Clint up in his arms, holding the detective tight against his chest.  He could feel the shivers wracking Clint’s body and held Clint tighter, trying to give Clint was little comfort he could.  He wasn’t sure what it was about his past that had Clint reacting this way, but Phil’d had centuries to get used to what happened.  Clint hadn’t.

“Sorry,” Phil whispered into Clint’s hair.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I…”

“Hey, no,” Clint said pulling back, and Phil was surprised to see tears shining in his eyes.  “I can handle it, Phil.”  He breathed out shakily before looking at Phil and straightening his shoulders.  “I know a little of what it’s like to have a shitty start in life.  How horrible humans can be to one another.  I spent most of my childhood in the foster care system, and it wasn’t exactly fourteenth century France or whatever, but I get it.  At least a little.  It’s just hard to hear about that kind of thing when it’s someone you care about.”

Blinking back unexpected tears of his own, Phil leaned forward to rest his forehead against Clint’s.  Just when he’d thought Clint couldn’t be anymore amazing, Clint proved him wrong.  For someone who had grown up in the foster system, with all of the implied hurts, Clint was a man marked by compassion and protectiveness.  It was humbling.  Phil hadn’t known what to expect when he’d started telling Clint his story, but this kind of acceptance was rare and Phil would treasure this, and Clint, for the rest of his eternal life.

“So, the murdering asshole who killed everyone, he was a vampire?” Clint said.

“Yes,” Phil said, pulling back enough to open his eyes again.  “His name was Loki.  He didn’t think much of humans, not as anything more than prey.  I tried to fight him, but he was too fast.  Too strong.”  Swallowing heavily, Phil tried to ignore the ghosts of screams echoing in his ears.  “I still don’t know how, but the evening after the attack, I woke up.  It was… well, it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint said.  “That’s…”

“It doesn’t always happen that way,” Phil said.  “Sometimes people want to be turned, and there are generally rules about that sort of thing.”

Clint raised both his eyebrows.  “That’s not exactly making me feel any better,” he said.

“Sorry,” Phil replied.

Frowning, Clint scrunched up his nose in a way that should not be so adorable.  “So what about Nick?  Did this Loki asshole turn him too?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Phil said.  “But not the same night I died.  Nick wasn’t there the night Loki… attacked, and he’s never said, but I think he’s the one that found me.  Or rather, my… body.  He was gone before I woke up again, though.  He tracked Loki for a while, wanting revenge, and eventually got turned himself.”

At the touch of Clint’s hand on his face, Phil opened eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d closed and stared into Clint’s blue-green gaze.  “I don’t know if it matters much, but can I say I’m glad you’re here?” Clint whispered.

The air rushed out of Phil’s lungs and he nodded, wordlessly.  Clint seemed to search Phil’s face before leaning forward and brushing Phil’s lips very softly with his own.  The kiss was more gentle than Phil had expected, no playfulness or demand, just a sort of questioning tenderness, as if Clint wasn’t sure of his welcome.  The soft press of lips turned wet and hungry when Phil opened his mouth, a dark instinct to claim Clint as his own reaching up from deep inside Phil.  Clint gasped and Phil took advantage, deepening the kiss and tasting the coffee Clint had been drinking, underlain with a sweetness that was all Clint.  The kiss was fierce and unrestrained, and fire rushed through Phil’s veins unlike any bloodlust he’d ever felt.

Clint’s hand tightened on Phil’s shoulder as Phil slid his free hand under the hoodie Clint wore to smooth over the sleek muscles of Clint’s back.  Clint was heat and fire and hunger in his arms, but he deserved more than Phil at the edge of his control.  Phil gentled the kiss, and Clint sighed.  Pulling away, Phil leaned in to place a soft kiss at the corner of Clint’s mouth, and then on both his eyelids in wordless apology before gathering Clint against his chest again.

“The next words out of your mouth better not be ‘I’m sorry’,” Clint muttered into Phil’s shoulder.

“They’re not,” Phil said.  He wasn’t sorry he’d kissed Clint, but he might be sorry he’d tried to start something after laying out the tragedy of his past.  “But they might be to ask if you wanted a nap.”

Clint chuckled roughly.  “A nap sounds good, actually,” he said.  “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Phil tightened his grip at the thought of Clint staying awake worrying about him and Clint unabashedly snuggled closer.  A few more of the walls around Phil’s heart melted away.  “Then let’s take a nap,” he said.

Together, he and Clint settled into the bed, and Phil had to hide a smile when Clint immediately cuddled up to his side and laid his head on Phil’s pillow.  It didn’t take long before Clint was biting back yawns, his eyes drifting shut, and as Phil watched him fall asleep, he felt exhaustion pulling at his own body.  Wrapping his arm around Clint, Phil felt a peace and comfort wash over him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.  Smiling softly, he prayed to whatever gods that were listening that this time, he’d get to keep this.

<*>

 


	8. Chapter 8

8.

Slowly, Phil slipped out of the doze he’d fallen into just after dawn.  As always, he’d woken as night slid into day, but he’d been too warm and comfortable to move, so he hadn’t.  Sharing a bed with Clint was a blissful dream that Phil still wasn’t entirely convinced was real, and when he blinked open his eyes, he half expected Clint to be gone.  Instead, he found himself staring at Clint’s sleeping face.  Phil smiled.

Relaxed in sleep, Clint looked a lot gentler than the detective he’d first met, especially with his sleep-mussed hair and the faint stubble covering his jaw.  At some point during the night, Clint had stripped off his hoodie, leaving him bare-chested and the blankets had gaped enough to give Phil a glimpse of golden skin and firm muscle.

Clint was just too tempting, lying there among the rumpled sheets, and Phil had to bite back the urge to reach out and run his hand along Clint’s warm arm.  If he did that, he might never stop, and Phil was pretty sure he and Clint needed to have another conversation or two before that happened.  Clint just had a knack for slipping under Phil’s skin and through all of his carefully constructed defenses, like he had the blueprints and knew every secret passage.

“I can feel you staring, you know,” Clint muttered without opening his eyes.

Phil’s cheeks heated, his last meal of blood recent enough for him to blush.  “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

Clint cracked open an eye.  “Huh?” he said, and it was only then that Phil remembered Clint had taken out his hearing aides in the middle of the night.  About the same time he’d taken off his hoodie, actually.

(That still warmed Phil’s chest, because the fact that Clint was willing to be vulnerable while sleeping next to a _vampire_ was a big sign of trust.  One that still had Phil’s stomach swooping.)

“I said: I hadn’t realized you were awake,” Phil repeated when Clint had finished messing with his hearing aides.

Clint huffed.  “I’m not sure that makes it any better, Phil,” he said.

Before Phil could come up with a reply to that, the quiet moment was broken by the shrill ringing of a phone.  Clint cursed, rolling out of bed and grabbing his hoodie.  He pulled the offending phone out of a pocket, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Barton,” he answered.

With his enhanced vampiric hearing, Phil could easily have overheard the other side of the conversation, but Phil always tried not to pry unless it was a matter of life and death.  Instead, he let his gaze wander, because Clint _was_ still standing there shirtless and really, who could blame Phil for being a little distracted?

Clint raised both eyebrows at him, but Phil wasn’t trying to be subtle.  “Shit,” he said, distracted by whoever was on the other end of the phone.  “Nat, I…”

He trailed off, listening intently, and then blew out a breath.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I’m on my way.”

Glancing over at Phil as he hung up, Clint offered a sheepish smile.  “Phil…”

“You’ve got a lead on a case,” Phil interrupted, pushing himself up so he was leaning against the headboard of the bed.  “So, go.”

Clint narrowed his eyes.  “Were you listening in?”

“No,” Phil said.  “Believe it or not, it wasn’t that hard to work out.”

Clint huffed again at Phil’s teasing.  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.  “We can’t all be ancient and vastly knowledgeable vampires.”  He hesitated, still hugging his phone and hoodie to his chest.  “Will I see you later?”

Phil smiled.  “I have to go see Nick, but you’re welcome to come by my apartment this evening for dinner,” he offered.

“Like, _dinner_ dinner?” Clint said.  “Or pizza-on-the-couch dinner?”

Frowning, Phil tried to puzzle out what Clint meant, but Clint just stood there, shoulders tense and eyes fixed on Phil, which was no help at all.  As much as Phil tried, sometimes the meaning of the modern vernacular escaped him completely.  “I am unsure what dinner-dinner is, but I am perfectly happy to cook for you?” he said.

Clint flushed, ducking his head.  “No, I…”  He glanced up, his eyes narrowing.  “Can vampires even eat human food?”

Phil nodded.  “Yes, we can,” he said.  “Blood sustains us, but food… helps?  It’s not entirely necessary, but, well.  It tastes good and an eternity that requires I give up coffee is not an eternity I am interested in seeing.”

Clint laughed.  “Why am I not surprised?”

Using one shoulder, Phil shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Clint huffed again.  “Fine.  I’ll come by your place at about eight?  And then you can totally show off your superior cooking skills,” he said.

Fighting a large smile, Phil nodded.  “That sounds great,” he said.

Clint nodded once.  “Awesome,” he agreed.

<*>

Later that afternoon, after Phil had detoured past his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes, he headed over to the headquarters of Nick’s latest taskforce.  He needed to talk to his old friend about what had happened with the vampire who attacked him, as unpleasant as that was going to be.  Phil made sure to bring a tray of coffees and tea with him, because bribery never hurt.

(He’d called ahead and checked with Nick first, though.  Bribery wouldn’t work if Phil brought the wrong coffee.)

Nick was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator, a smirk fixed on his face.  “You won me five bucks, you know,” he said in greeting.

Phil arched an eyebrow and passed Nick his coffee.  “Should an officer of the NYPD be so blatantly profiting from gambling?” he replied.

Shrugging, Nick grinned.  “When it’s Jasper, always,” he said.  “He said we wouldn’t see you until tomorrow.”

“Spurious lies,” Jasper said, walking up.

Around them, the task force HQ was bustling, but there still weren’t as many people as Phil had been expecting.  Nick, however, had managed to fill the office with all the latest technology and there were enough screens and displays to put a sci fi TV show to shame.  Or maybe even Tony Stark.

“Well met, Jasper,” Phil said, handing over Jasper’s caramel macchiato.

He hadn’t seen Jasper for months, which might not have been long compared to eternity, but after almost four centuries of fighting beside Jasper as a Hound, Phil missed Jasper with an ache in his chest.  If not Jasper’s terrible sense of humour.  Jasper looked well, his suit modern and subtly elegant, even with the thick black marks curling up the left side of his neck.  Most people mistook them for tattoos, but in truth they were soul marks, the physical symbols of Jasper’s Bond with Nick and Melinda.  The bright spark of happiness still lingered in Jasper’s dark eyes was a less dramatic sign, but one Phil was always happy to see.

True soul marks were rare, and many vampires scorned them, not willing to be tied so closely to others, not when the death of the one they were Bonded to might mean their own.  Phil had only seen how strong and happy the Bond made his friends, and he carefully suppressed the longing for one of his own.  Phil doubted he would ever be that lucky.

“It was Nick who said you wouldn’t be getting out of bed until tomorrow,” Jasper added.

“Now who’s lying?” Nick shot back.

“Both of them,” Melinda May said flatly from her desk, her eyes never leaving the file she was reading.

Unlike her mates, Melinda wore a slightly different version of the practical, black clothes she’d worn as a Hound for centuries -- although, this time, she wasn’t obviously armed and her black hair hung loose around her face.  Her own soul marks were hidden, curling around her upper right arm and down to her wrist, but Phil had glimpsed them enough over the centuries.  As Nick chuckled, Phil walked over to Melinda to leave her cup of tea beside her.  As he set the cup down, Melinda’s dark eyes flicked over him critically.  “I see you’re still breathing,” she said.

“Thankfully, yes,” Phil replied.

Melinda snorted.  “You still look like shit, though.”

Phil smiled.  “It’s good to see you, too, Melinda,” he said.

Opposite Melinda, at another desk, Natasha Romanoff was watching Phil, Maria Hill leaning casually up against the corner of it.  Phil was still a little surprised that Natasha was here, because he’d thought she would be chasing down that lead with Clint, but Phil trusted them both to have a handle on whatever was going on.  He nodded in greeting at both Natasha and Maria, ignoring Maria’s smirk in reply.

“Come on,” Nick said, clapping Phil on his shoulder.  “Let’s go talk in my office.”

Jasper took the tray holding the remaining two coffees for Natasha and Maria, and waved Phil away.  Phil followed Nick into the small, glass-walled office off the main room, inwardly raising an eyebrow when Nick shut the door behind them.

“So,” Nick said, sitting down behind his desk.  “What do you want to talk about?”

Phil sat down opposite him and sighed.  “We need to talk about the night I was attacked.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, all humour leaving his face.  “We do.  Tell me what happened.”

“The vampire -- he’s young,” Phil said, letting his mind drift back to the dark alley.  He closed his eyes, the memory of wet, rotting garbage filling his nose, something sour and sharp hovering beneath it.  “If I had to guess, I’d say he was no more than fifty years, but he’s not weak.”

“Is he trained?” Nick asked.

Phil frowned.  The vampire’s movements had been fluid and sure, but his grip on the sword had been wrong.  “He knows how to use his strength and speed to best advantage, but no one has taught him the sword,” he said.

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Nick muttered.  “We need…”

Phil jerked forwards, his eyes snapping open, as he suddenly placed the sour scent from his memories.  It was _vampire blood_ , and not Phil’s own.  But it _was_ the same vampire blood that Phil had smelled under Miles Lydon’s fingernails.  “He’s the same rogue who killed Daisy’s ex,” he blurted.  Blinking, he glanced up at Nick.  “The mugging I called you about two weeks ago.”

Nick narrowed his eye.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Phil said.  He was _definitely_ sure.

Blowing out a breath, Nick sank back in his chair.  “That gives us a little more to go on than we had before, but we still don’t have much,” he said.  “None of my usual contacts have given me anything on a new rogue.”

That meant Nick believed the rogue was working with someone.  The words than had been haunting Phil since the confrontation rushed to the forefront of Phil’s mind.  “The rogue is working with Garrett,” he said, his thoughts spinning.

Nick’s face turned thunderous, but Phil held up a hand before he could speak.  “The attack wasn’t under Garrett’s orders,” Phil said.  “Whoever this protégé of Garrett’s is, he was acting out.  He told me that Garrett didn’t have the balls to deal with me.”  He swallowed heavily as another thought struck, sending icy horror curling through his stomach.  “Mon Dieu, he’s… I think he’s the same rogue who turned Daisy.”

Nick swore, the words reminiscent of the mercenary he’d once been and far more vulgar than Phil’s own.  “How do you know?” he demanded.

“Because he said that Daisy shouldn’t be turning to me for protection, that she should be turning to _him_ ,” Phil said softly.  “That Daisy was _his_.”

“Like _hell she is_ ,” Nick snapped.  “Daisy is no one’s but her own.  I am going to enjoy beheading this bastard.”

“If you need help with that, let me know,” Phil replied.  Daisy was capable of looking after herself, particularly with Melinda’s ongoing tutelage, but even so, Phil wasn’t willing to let _anyone_ hurt her if he could do something about it.  “I think the rogue, whoever he is, was planning to swoop in to save her when she woke up.  So that she’d be indebted to him.  Except, we got there first.”

Nick huffed and then sent Phil a wry smile.  “Well, no one ever expects a vampire to be working in the morgue,” he said.

“I guess so,” Phil agreed.

“Don’t worry, Phil.  I’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on her,” Nick said.  “But someone needs to tell her what’s going on.”

Phil nodded.  “Of course.”

He rolled his eyes when Nick just raised his eyebrows expectantly, some of the horror finally leaving him.  “By someone, you mean me,” Phil said.

“I’d do it, but you saw the rogue, Phil,” Nick said.  “I thought that way, when Daisy has questions, she can get any of the answers you can give.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Phil breathed out a sigh.  “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Nick said, rising to his feet when Phil did the same.  “And be careful, okay?”

Phil attempted a smile.  “Yeah.  I promise.”

<*>

Phil frowned down at the sketchbook in his hands.  It had been _years_ since he had attempted to draw anything, and it clearly showed.  Even almost seven centuries later, the words of his tutor were fresh in his mind.  Phil sighed.  He had never been a great artist, but his Aunt had been determined that he learn, and the skill had been useful enough once or twice in the years since.  None of that, however, was helping right now.  Phil had attempted to draw the face of the rogue vampire who attacked him, but he couldn’t completely translate the image in his memory onto paper.

Hopefully, his rough sketch would be good enough to help, regardless of its quality.

Phil had arranged to meet Daisy a little later than afternoon, and he’d hoped to have the sketch to show her.  Daisy deserved to know who was after her, even if a part of Phil _hated_ the fear that would come with the knowledge.  Phil would still protect her as best as he could, as would Nick, but there was no guarantee that Daisy wouldn’t have to fight this battle on her own.

A knock at the door startled Phil out of his brooding thoughts, just as a sharp tremor skittered over Phil’s skin.  Phil blinked at the familiar presence and hurried over to the door.  “Daisy?” he greeted, opening the door after making sure she was alone.

“Hey, Phil,” Daisy replied.

Her face was pale and her shoulders hunched, her agitation feeding into her powers and making her vampiric presence stronger than usual, even despite the daylight hour.  Daisy was still very young, particularly as a vampire, and she still acted very human.  She rarely noticed a power drain by going out in the daylight, not like other vampires, too used to attributing the feeling as exhaustion after staying up all night.  Phil suspected that might also be a sign that when she had aged a little more and come into her true power, Daisy was going to be one of the most powerful vampires in the world.  Even so, for her to be so obvious in the middle of the afternoon meant that whatever she was here to say was bothering her a lot.

“Come in,” Phil said, stepping back to let Daisy pass.

Daisy offered him a faint smile.  “Thanks, Coulson,” she said.  She headed into his living room, but unlike the other times she’d visited, she didn’t sit down.  Instead, she bit her lip and toyed with a thread hanging loose from the sleeve of her sweater, where it poked out from underneath her leather jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked her softly.

“That’s kind of a loaded question,” Daisy said.  She glanced over at the couch, her entire body stiffening when she saw Phil’s still-open sketch book.  “Is that…?”

Phil nodded, mostly to himself.  “I was hoping to talk to you about that, actually,” he said.  “I was wondering if you knew him.  He’s a rogue vampire who attacked me a few days ago, and…”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said, cutting Phil off.  She turned around, her dark eyes blazing with a fierce anger.  “I know who that is.”  Then she frowned.  “What do you mean he _attacked you_?”

Phil grimaced.  He’d been hoping Nick had broken the news to her, actually.  “Two days ago I was attacked on my way home by a rogue.  It wasn’t… pleasant,” he said, which really, was a terrible understatement.  “He’s working with an old adversary of mine, but Nick and I both think this was a crime of opportunity.  He seemed to be concerned more about you, actually.  I think I was just in his way.”

“But you’re okay?” Daisy asked.

Phil smiled.  “Almost back at full strength already,” he replied.

“Good.  That’s good,” Daisy said, her shoulders relaxing.  She fixed him with a sharp stare.  “But don’t think I didn’t notice that you missed out a few things in that explanation, Doc.”

Phil’s smile turned rueful.  It was very difficult to keep things from Daisy.  Even when Phil wanted to keep some of the painful details of his past to himself, because someone as young and bright as Daisy didn’t deserve that kind of burden.  “Yes, well, my past isn’t exactly a pleasant place to dwell,” Phil told her.  He raised an eyebrow.  “And I’m not the only one avoiding things.”

Daisy sighed.  “Yeah,” she agreed.  “His name is Ward.  Grant Ward.  We met at a bar before I got turned and before I knew what he was.  He… well, he was charming in the beginning.”  She shrugged, her lips twisting into an attempt at a wry smile.  “The creepiness came later.”

“He turned you,” Phil said, not really a question as things slotted together.

“Yeah,” Daisy said.

“Daisy…” Phil began.

Shrugging, Daisy let out a loud sigh.  “It’s okay.  I’m… dealing with it.  Mostly, I’m just sorry that you got drawn into this.  And that he hurt you.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Phil reassured her.  “And besides.  I will take a thousand injuries like that one if it helps keep you safe.”

Daisy blinked, her eyes bright.  “Thanks, Phil,” she whispered.

Unable to help himself, Phil stepped forward to pull Daisy into a hug.  She wrapped her arms around him tightly, fisting her hands in the back of his shirt, and buried her face in his shoulder.  Phil ran a soothing hand down her back, feeling the way Daisy was shaking slightly against him.  She was clearly dealing with more than Phil had thought, and he felt a stab of guilt for not being there for her lately.

“Sorry,” Daisy muttered when she eventually pulled back, trying to surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

“No.  Don’t apologize,” Phil told her.  “That’s what friends are for.”

This time, Daisy’s smile was small, but grateful.  “Thanks, Phil.”

Phil nodded once.  “Can I get you some tea?” he offered.  “I’m assuming you didn’t come all the way here in the middle of the afternoon just for a chat?”

Daisy huffed.  “I could’ve,” she muttered.

Hiding a smile, Phil retreated into the kitchen to start the familiar routine of making a pot of tea.  One of Phil’s favourite changes over the centuries had been when Europe moved away from drinking watered wine.  Phil’s first journeys to India and China had blown his mind, as Daisy would put it.

He chose one of his special herbal blends, a warming mixture of orange and cinnamon, as Daisy settled on a stool at his kitchen counter.  “So?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder.

“ _So_ ,” Daisy said, narrowing her eyes slightly.  “Word on the street says there’s a meeting between several old vampires going down tonight.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose.  Vampire society was complicated to put it mildly, and outside of the Court that surrounded the Vampire Clan Council, old and powerful vampires rarely spent much time in each others’ company.  Part of it was an overdeveloped territorial instinct, but most of it stemmed from the fact most old vampires were aristocracy.  If they hadn’t been born to it, they’d made sure to become it.  Egos seemed to be a part of their genetics.

“How old?” he asked, turning to set the pot and two mugs in front of Daisy.

It was not unheard of for a few vampires only one or two centuries old to enter into business dealings.  Phil had never been sure if that was due to age, or the legacy of their mortal upbringings.

“ _Old_ ,” Daisy said.  “We’re talking major players.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose again.  That _was_ unusual.  “And this is more than just rumour?” he said, carefully pouring the tea.

Daisy nodded.  “Yeah.  It took a little digging, but I found the location of the meeting.  It’s set to be held in an old warehouse down by the Hudson.”

Suddenly Phil understood why Daisy had brought this to him.  “You want to investigate,” he said.

Grinning, Daisy wrapped her hands around her mug.  “Oh, come on.  I already checked with Jemma -- you’re not working tonight,” she said.  “I’ve got a plan and everything.”

“That’s…” Phil started to say, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to bring up his dinner with Clint.

Daisy’s eyes widened.  “Wait.  Doc, do you have _plans_?”

Phil opened his mouth, but no words came out.  He sighed.  “I _might_ have a date this evening?” he said.

“You _might_?” Daisy echoed, her dark eyes dancing with laughter.  “Fine, be coy.”  She smirked.  “I guess it’s just as well my plans involve going somewhere this _afternoon_ , then isn’t it?”

“I…”  Phil frowned.  “What exactly _is_ your plan?”

Daisy pulled something small and almost innocuous looking out of her pocket.  Phil had no idea what it was, except for the small antenna coming out of the top.  Daisy’s grin was sharp and bright.  “I thought we could bug the place,” she said.

<*>

 


	9. Chapter 9

9.

“You thought we could bug the place,” Phil repeated flatly.

Daisy nodded.  “If these vamps are as old as rumour says, there’s no way any of them will be leaving their mansions or whatever before sunset,” she said.  “That gives us _hours_ to work with.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, but Daisy wasn’t incorrect.  Older vampires tended to be more traditional and only ventured out at night.  That didn’t mean her plan was foolproof, however.

“We might avoid the vampires, yes, but we could still encounter their very human advanced security teams,” Phil said, because powerful men, vampires or not, _always_ had bodyguards.  “Not to mention that they might scan for listening devices before the meeting.”

Daisy sent him a look that filled with equal parts frustration and determination.  “Okay, so number one,” she said, holding up a finger.  “I built these bugs myself and they’re a lot harder to detect than you think.  Particularly if we hide them somewhere clever.”

She held up a second finger.  “Number two, if these vamps are as old as they say, then they think humans are stupid.  They -- and their security teams -- will be checking for supernatural based threats, not human listening devices, because humans aren’t smart enough to be threats.”

Phil had to concede that point.  His brethren did suffer from a terrible sense of superiority and elitism.  Most of them _didn’t_ consider humans to be a threat, but then, most of them also oversaw their empires through proxies and from behind reinforced walls.

“And number three?” Phil asked, because Daisy clearly wasn’t finished.

“Number three,” Daisy said with a third finger and narrowed eyes.  “When are we going to get a better chance at figuring out what’s going on?”

“As unusual as a meeting between old vampires is, there’s no guarantee that it’s connected to anything else,” Phil said, mostly for arguments sake.

Daisy rolled her eyes.  “Please,” she said.  “There’s something really weird going on, and it’s all more connected together than everyone thinks.  You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

Phil sighed.  “I do,” he admitted.

“Besides, this meeting isn’t just _unusual_ ,” Daisy added.  “It’s way beyond unusual.  Old vampires _never_ get along.  In fact, the only ones I know that _do_ happily share territory are you and Nick, and let’s face it, neither of you are normal vampires.”

“Thanks,” Phil said dryly.

Daisy waved her hand.  “You know what I mean.”

Phil did.  And Daisy wasn’t incorrect about that, either.  His and Nick’s friendship _was_ strange for vampires of their age, but Phil didn’t care.  He wouldn’t trade Nick’s friendship for anything.

“So how did you want to do this?” he asked.

Daisy grinned.  “Go and put on your sneaking pants, Doc, and let’s roll.”

<*>

Breaking in to plant the bugs was surprisingly easy, and that just made Phil nervous.  Even with his and Daisy’s enhanced speed, reduced as it was in daylight, Phil had expected it to be harder to sneak past the four-man security team.  The humans didn’t act like they were aware vampires existed _at all_ , which made the bad feeling curling through Phil’s stomach get stronger.  If it had been him, he’d have sent _revenants_ as the advanced security team at least, and surely the vampires they were dealing with couldn’t be that arrogant.

“Okay, what is it?” Daisy asked, dropping down from where she’d been planting a bug on top of a disused bookcase.  “What’s with the brooding?”

“Does this seem too easy to you?” Phil asked.

“ _Doc_!” Daisy protested.  “That’s a question that’s almost guaranteed to jinx us.”

Phil sent her a level look.

Daisy rolled her eyes.  “It’s true,” she grumbled.  “You really need to update your pop culture references.”

“Let’s just hurry up,” Phil said.

Daisy blinked.  “Why?  Can other vampires sense if we’ve been here?” she asked, stepping back from the desk she’d been touching.

“No.”  Phil shook his head.  “Only leaving blood or strong emotions would linger enough to be sensed, and even then only by old and powerful vampires.”

Daisy shot him an indecipherable look.  “So keep calm and don’t bleed on anything.  Got it.”

Phil wasn’t particularly worried, despite Daisy’s skepticism, but if they lingered too close to sunset, there was a small chance another vampire could wander close enough to sense their presence.  Besides, Phil had somewhere to be.

Hiding another bug _inside_ one of the hollow table legs, Daisy huffed and looked up.  “Okay, what’s wrong, Doc?” she said.  “You’re making that sad, confused face again.”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Phil set her an apologetic smile and tried to focus on the listening devices he was supposed to be hiding.  “Sorry.  It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Daisy said.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were actually brooding over someone.”

Phil cleared his throat, caught.  “Well,” he said.  With a sigh, he gave in and confessed.  “Detective Barton asked me out to dinner.  Well, actually, he asked me out for dinner _twice_ ,” Phil said, and he was still confused by what that _meant_.

“Woah,” Daisy said, grinning.  “He’s determined.”

Phil frowned.  “No, that’s… well, Detective Barton is indeed determined, but I meant when he asked, he said ‘dinner’ twice and used a tone.”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Daisy said, her voice suddenly full of understanding.  “He asked you out for _dinner_ dinner.”

“Yes!” Phil said.  “That’s the tone he used.”

Daisy chuckled.  “Oh, yeah.  He _definitely_ asked you out on a date.”

Phil blinked.  He wasn’t averse to the idea -- the very _opposite_ in fact -- but dates required a certain amount of planning.

“Easy, Doc,” Daisy said.  “I can feel you panicking from over here.”

Phil cleared his throat.  “Yes, well, it might have been a little while since I last had a date.”

Daisy raised an eyebrow.  “I’m guessing from general awkwardness about this, ‘a little while’ might be an understatement,” she said.

Blowing out a sigh, Phil sent her a glare.  “I can do without your ridicule, thank you,” he said.

“Hey, no, I’m not ridiculing,” Daisy said.  “Maybe gently teasing, but it’s cool, Doc.  And besides, maybe I can help?  What kind of date did the good detective ask you on?”

Phil took a deep breath, even though he didn’t need it, because he needed to calm his nerves.  He might have been more stressed about the date than anticipated if he was snapping at Daisy.  “I’m cooking him dinner,” he said.

Daisy grinned.  “Nice, Doc,” she said.  “So what are you cooking him?”

Phil blinked.  “I have no idea.”

“Well, what about last time you cooked for a date?  What did you eat?” Daisy asked.

Phil thought back to the last time he’d tried to impress a man with dinner.  Well, one he was romantically interested in.  He had a vague memory of something like chicken with a rich sauce and some sort of elaborate dessert, neither of which his culinary skills could replicate.  Then again, the last time he’d tried to impress a date, flaunting wealth hadn’t been considered a _faux pas_.

“You know, I have no idea,” Phil told Daisy.  He shrugged sheepishly at her questioning eyebrow.  “I hesitate to admit, but last time I tried to impress a date, I had a personal chef to do the actual cooking part for me.”

Daisy raised both her eyebrows, and let out a low whistle.  “ _Nice_ ,” she said.  Then she blinked.  “Wait, do you even _know_ how to cook?”

Phil scowled.  “Yes, I do,” he said.

Chuckling, Daisy help up her hands.  “No need to get cranky, Doc.  I was just checking.”

Phil let out a breath, his shoulders sagging.  Daisy was right.  He had no idea what he was doing.

“Hey, no,” Daisy said quietly, and Phil blinked.  When had she gotten close enough to rest a hand on his arm?  “You’ve got this, Doc.  I’m betting Detective Barton is more looking forward to the company than the food.”

Phil swallowed, something tight easing in his chest.  “Thank you, Daisy.”

Daisy grinned.  “You’re welcome,” she replied.  “Now come on, let’s finish hiding these bugs.”

<*>

By the time Clint knocked on his door, Phil had managed to swallow down most of his nerves.  It shouldn’t have been such a big deal -- Clint already knew about his past and they’d kissed, which did reinforce the idea that Clint was interested in him romantically.

Phil sighed.  He really was overthinking this.

Taking the stuffed chicken breasts out of the oven -- a deceptively simple recipe Daisy had found via the internet after they left the warehouse -- Phil walked over to let Clint in.  At the door, he wiped his hands on the dishcloth tucked into the pocket of his jeans and took a deep breath.

Clint offered him a small smile when Phil opened the door, and Phil couldn’t help but smile back.  Clint looked _good_.  He was more casual than usual, wearing a dark grey v-neck t-shirt under his leather jacket, but his jeans were dark and looked new, and his boots were laced up the whole way.

“Hey,” Clint said.  He held out the bottle in his hands.  “I brought wine?  I wasn’t sure if you’d have opinions, but Nat said this wine goes with practically anything.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, taking the bottle.

He opened his mouth to formally invite Clint inside, because while Clint didn’t _need_ a formal invitation to enter, Phil had been a vampire long enough that some habits were ingrained.  Then he blinked, because Clint’s eyes weren’t lingering on his face.  Phil had rolled the sleeves of his light blue shirt up to his elbows while he was cooking, and Clint’s gaze had dropped to Phil’s forearms.

Phil’s smile widened as Clint jerked his eyes up to Phil’s, his ears flushing red.  Something tense in Phil’s stomach settled.  “Come in,” he told Clint.

“I, uh…” Clint said, following Phil into the apartment.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asked as he headed into the small kitchen.  “No lingering side-effects from, um…”  He huffed.  He’d been trying to ease Clint’s nerves and instead added to his own awkwardness, because how did you politely ask about feeding off someone?  The tension in Clint’s shoulders relaxed, however, so Phil would count it as a victory.

“You biting me?” Clint finished, smirking a little.

“Not exactly how I was going to put it, but yes,” Phil said.

Clint ducked his head.  “I’m fine,” he replied.  “Captain Fury took me out for a vaguely terrifying lunch and fed me steak, but otherwise I’m all good.”

_Of course_ Nick had.  Phil nodded.  “I’m glad.”

To keep busy and stop himself from saying anything else awkward, Phil grabbed two wine glasses from the cupboard and concentrated on pouring both himself and Clint some wine.  Thankfully, Phil managed to keep the conversation light and relatively not awkward as he served the food.  Clint looked flatteringly impressed by Phil’s cooking, and Phil made a mental note to thank Daisy for her Googling.

“Is something wrong?” Phil asked as he pushed his empty plate away.

Clint blinked up from where he’d been pushing the remains of his green beans around his own plate.  “No!  This is great.  I just…”

He waved a hand towards Phil and Phil waited him out.  Clint ducked his head again, a sign Phil was beginning to realize of his embarrassment.  “I’m just trying to filter out years of vampire movies?” Clint added.

Phil chuckled.  “Because we’re not supposed to enjoy eating chicken?”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Not after it’s been cooked, no,” he said.  “But, sure, laugh it up.”

Sipping his wine, which really was quite good, Phil shrugged.  “You should have heard what they used to say about vampires about a hundred years ago.”

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, yeah?”

“I’ll tell you later if you’re still interested,” Phil said.  “It’s not really pleasant dinner conversation.”

“Okay, now I’m _really_ intrigued,” Clint said with a grin.

Shaking his head with a smile, Phil stood up to take their plates to the sink.  The remains of the small tea-light candles Phil had lit were guttering, but the tablecloth still looked nice, and it might not have pulled out his fancy silver, but Clint looked like he was enjoying himself.  More than that, Clint looked like he _belonged_ in Phil’s tiny apartment, his cheeks faintly pink and his eyes relaxed and laughing.

Phil yanked those thoughts to a halt before they could drift too far down that path.  “Would you like some more wine before dessert?” he asked.

Clint glanced towards his still full glass.  “Uh, no.  I’m not really much of a drinker.”

Phil stomach clenched.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I should have asked.  Do you…?”

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint said.  “I just don’t like drinking.  I probably owe you an explanation or two anyway.”

Phil walked over to lay a hand over Clint’s.  “No, Clint, you don’t owe me _anything_.”

Clint swallowed, glancing up at Phil.  “I want to tell you,” he said.  “Although, maybe on the couch?”

“Of course.”  Phil stepped back to let Clint stand.  “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea instead?”

“Uh, coffee would be great,” Clint said.

By now, Phil was used to the way Clint’s gaze continually strayed to their lips when they talked, and in the quiet of Phil’s apartment, Clint didn’t seem to have any problems hearing what Phil was asking.  It was nice, and Clint didn’t look like he minded talking, but Phil made a mental note to do more than to ask Daisy to send him ASL tutorial videos.  His attempts at practicing his ASL skills had been even rustier than he thought, and if he was going to have more than one date with Clint Barton, that was the _least_ he could do.

Of course, Phil also had to remind himself that Clint wasn’t watching his lips for _any other reason_.

After Phil made them both coffee, they settled on the couch.  When Phil sat down on the opposite end to give Clint some space, Clint huffed and tugged him closer.  “So,” Clint said, looking down at the mug cradled in his hands.  “You remember how I told you I grew up in foster care?”

Phil nodded.  “I do.”

“Well, that was because my parents died in a car accident when I was about four,” Clint said, letting out a breath.  “My father was a mean drunk, and one day he decided to get behind the wheel.”

The pain and bitterness might have been old, but they still hung thickly around Clint as he started to tell Phil about his past.  Helpless not to, Phil reached out to take one of Clint’s hands and tangled their fingers together, hoping the touch would give Clint some comfort.

“None of my father’s family wanted to take us in, and my mother’s family disowned her, so we ended up in a group home,” Clint continued.

When he fell silent, Phil squeezed his hand gently.  “We?” he prompted.

Clint blinked.  “Oh.  Me and my older brother Barney.”  He smiled ruefully, and Phil sensed there was another story there.  “Barney always had these big ideas, you know?  And he got sick of always being passed up for the younger kids, so he came up with a plan.”

“Oh?” Phil said.

Clint smiled and this time there was amusement mixed in with the pain in his eyes.  “We ran away to the circus.”

Phil raised his eyebrows.  “I think I’m impressed.”

Huffing, Clint rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.  “Although, in the spirit of full disclosure, the circus is where I learned about the existence of fanged creatures of the night.  It’s also where I learned how to shoot a bow.”

Nick had been right and Clint having knowledge about vampires before meeting Phil did explain a few things.  Yet it was Clint’s mention of a bow that really caught Phil’s attention.  “You’re an archer?” he asked.

Clint smirked.  “The Amazing Hawkeye at your service,” he said.  “And I didn’t learn how to shoot using one of those fancy bows, either.  The guy I learned from -- Trickshot -- preferred longbows.”

Phil bit his lip to stop from grinning as madly as he wanted to.  “Made from yew?  Or ash?  Do they still make longbows the way they used to?  I haven’t kept track.”

Clint’s eyes widened and he huffed again.  “Of course you know how to shoot a bow.”

Phil nodded.  “My Uncle taught me, both for hunting and battle.”  A thought struck him.  “I should take you to the old house I own in Scotland.  I have some old longbows stored in the attic, if I remember correctly, and the neighbours are far enough away that no one will bother us if we shoot everything on the grounds.”

His words dried up as Phil’s brain caught up with what he was saying.  “I mean…”

“No, that sounds amazing, Phil,” Clint interrupted with a soft smile.  “I’d love to.”

Phil cleared his throat.  “Good.  And I’m sorry, I interrupted your story.”

“Hey, you can interrupt me to talk about archery any time, Phil,” Clint said.  The amusement faded from his face.  “CPS eventually found us at the circus, but it wasn’t all bad.  I got fostered by a nice couple -- Peggy and Gabe Jones -- before I joined the Army, and well, you know most of the rest of it.”

“And your brother?” Phil asked quietly.

Clint glanced away, his jaw clenching.  “He… it turned out okay.  He’s in the FBI now.  He’s got a wife and everything.”

“I’m glad he had a chance to find happiness,” Phil said.

“Thanks, Phil,” Clint said and his eyes were impossibly blue when he turned back to Phil.

With a sigh, Clint leaned forward and put his mug on the coffee table before repeating the same with Phil’s.  “Okay, so that’s not actually where I was intending that conversation to go,” he said.  “I mean, I wanted you to know, Phil, I really did, but…  Can we maybe go back to the part where we geek out over archery and I pretend I don’t want to lean over and just kiss you?”

Phil swallowed.  The elusive scent of Clint’s blood had been teasing Phil all evening, but it was as if Clint’s words had given him permission to stare.  Clint’s pulse fluttered under his jaw, thrumming underneath the skin, and Phil’s fangs itched to descend.  He’d a craving to sink his fangs into Clint’s neck and just _drink_ ever since he’d first had a taste of Clint’s blood.

He guiltily jerked his gaze up to Clint’s and cleared his throat.  “We could,” he said.  “Or you could just kiss me?”

Clint smirked.  “You’re totally thinking about biting me right now, aren’t you?”

“I… you…”  Phil felt his cheeks flush.  “Clint!”

Chuckling low in his throat, Clint pulled Phil towards him by the front of Phil’s shirt.  “You so are,” he muttered, his lips brushing Phil’s.

Huffing, Phil pressed forwards.  Clint hummed happily, his broad, calloused hands sliding up Phil’s back as Clint’s mouth opened underneath his.  The kiss was slow and sweet, nothing like the flare of passion of their second, but there was nothing shy about it, either.  Phil shivered, because it was intoxicating to have Clint so close, his heart beating solidly underneath Phil’s hand and his own fingers curled in Phil’s shirt.  Goosebumps erupted over Phil’s skin, and somehow his other hand ended up underneath Clint’s t-shirt, but then Phil stopped worrying and just let himself enjoy the feeling of being in Clint’s arms.  This was more than he’d ever imagined he could have, and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to let go for _anything_.

The loud buzzing coming from Clint’s pocket finally cut through the thundering of Clint’s heartbeat in Phil’s ears, and he pulled back a little.  “Clint,” he muttered.  “Phone.”

“Huh?” Clint blinked at him, his skin flushed pink and his eyes dark.

Phil smiled.  “You just got a message on your phone.”

Clint cursed, and it only took a little wiggling before he pulled it out of his pocket.  Phil was absolutely not distracted by Clint’s hips.  Clint swiped at the screen, and almost immediately his face clouded over and he sighed.

“Bad news?” Phil asked.

“Sort of,” Clint replied.  “Nat and I are working on a theory that there was more to Christine Everhart’s murder than it appears, and she thinks she’s found something.  The case was just too neat, you know?”

Clint sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, even as he climbed to his feet.  “And that doesn’t even count what’s going on with the Extremis drug,” he muttered.  He glanced at Phil.  “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my wild conspiracy theories.”

“Actually, I do,” Phil said softly.  It was easy to forget, sometimes, that beneath the smile and the sarcasm, Clint’s brain was observing and cataloguing _everything_ around him.  There was a reason why he was such a good detective.

“You _do_?” Clint echoed.

Phil nodded.  “I do,” he said.  “But maybe after you deal with whatever Natasha has messaged you about?”

Clint glanced down at his phone again.  “Right, yeah.”  He looked back up and raised an eyebrow.  “You know, you’re taking the fact that I’m running out on our date really well.”

“Yes, well.”  Phil cleared his throat and tried to squash down the warmth in his chest as he stood up.  “Your job is important to you.  And Natasha wouldn’t have messaged you if it wasn’t serious.”

Clint, who had paused in the middle of shrugging on his jacket, just stared.  “Shit, Phil, you’re amazing,” he blurted.

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but his arms were suddenly full of Clint as Clint kissed him fiercely.  Clint pulled back with a groan and rested his forehead against Phil’s.  “I _really_ need to go,” he muttered.

Chuckling, Phil stepped away, even though he didn’t want Clint to leave at all.  “I’ll walk you out,” he said.

Clint paused when they got to the door, but this time there as tension tightening his shoulders.  “Phil, I was, uh, meaning to ask,” he said.  “Can I tell Natasha about…”  He trailed off, waving a hand in front of his mouth.  “Although, in fair warning, I think she’s figured it out for herself.”

“That I’m a vampire?” Phil said.

Clint nodded.

Phil smiled faintly.  “I won’t ask you to keep secrets from her, Clint.  Tell her whatever you need to.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Clint said.  He stepped forward to press another brief kiss to Phil’s lips.  His eyes were soft and so very blue.  “Really.”

“Be careful out there,” Phil told him.

Clint nodded again.  “I will,” he promised, and with one last kiss, slipped out of the door.

<*>

 


	10. Chapter 10

10.

The morgue was buzzing with activity when Phil turned up half an hour before his shift, at Helen’s request.  “Phil, thanks for coming in early,” Helen said, sticking her head out of her office and waving Phil inside.

“What’s going on?” Phil asked as he took a seat opposite her.

Helen let out a sigh, and slumped back in her chair.  Or rather, she slumped as much as someone could with Helen’s excellent posture.  “A lot,” she said frankly.  “Captain Fury of that new taskforce has officially linked the explosion a few days a go to the drug Extremis, so City Hall is breathing down my neck.”  Helen frowned.  “And that’s not all.”

Phil raised his eyebrows, even as he wondered why Nick hadn’t told Phil that himself.  Although, in Nick’s defense, Phil had already known about the fact that Extremis made some of the vampire addicts _explode_.  “Oh?” he said mildly.

Helen huffed.  “Oh, don’t give me that,” she said.  “We have a new weird case that I need your expertise on.”

That caught Phil’s attention.  “Are you having trouble with the cause of death?” he said.

Pausing, Helen glanced at him.  “No,” she said.  “I’m almost certain about what killed our victim.  There’s… it would probably just be easier to show you the body.”

Phil nodded.  “I’ll change into my scrubs and meet you in the autopsy room in ten minutes?” he suggested.

Helen nodded.  “Thanks, Phil.”

Just under ten minutes later, Phil watched Helen pull back the sheet covering the body.  Phil blinked.  The skeletal remains were crumbling and blackened, like they’d been burned, and there was a thick rotting scent hovering in the air.  It wasn’t unusual for only the bones from a body to be discovered, but the more decomposed a body, the harder it usually was to be certain about cause of death.  And yet, Helen hadn’t called Phil in for a second opinion on that.  Phil took a deep breath, questions already on the tip of his tongue, when he smelled the sour note underneath the rot.

The body belonged to a _vampire_.

Phil should have recognized it immediately.  Vampire bodies didn’t explode into ash like in the movies, but after True Death, vampires withered away and turned into the corpses they otherwise should have been.  The black scorch marks on the bones should have been enough of a clue -- Phil had spent centuries hunting and killing rogues.  He’d just never expected to find a vampire in the NYC morgue.  Not unless they were coming back to life after their First Death, because those that hunted vampires never usually left enough remains for the police to find.

“When they brought the body in, it was already dessicated.  It looked like some of the bodies that Dr Weaver, the forensic anthropologist, needed help with last summer,” Helen said.  “And then, when I pulled the body out of the drawer about an hour ago to start the autopsy, I found nothing but bones.”

“And we know it’s the same body?” Phil asked, mostly for show, because a normal medical examiner would be concerned about a sudden change like that.

(Phil the vampire was also concerned, but for vastly different reasons.  He needed to call Nick.  Hell, he probably needed to be on his guard because someone out there was _killing vampires_.)

“I checked the samples that I had sent to the lab,” Helen said.  “They were withered as well.  Then I called up Detective Hill and asked her to send me the crime scene photos.”

She passed over a folder to Phil.  Phil flipped it open and had to bite back a curse.  The body had been beheaded, one of the only way to truly kill a vampire, but that didn’t hide the fact the body showed absolutely no signs of desiccation.   _Shit_.  At least Maria was the investigating detective.  If necessary, she’d help Phil alter the reports to hide their rapidly decomposing body.

Helen glanced at Phil.  “I don’t want to know what this is, do I?” she asked quietly.

Phil glanced between the body and his boss, at a complete loss of how to explain what Helen had seen.  “I…”

Holding up a hand, Helen met his gaze.  “I don’t need to know,” she said.  “I mean, I have no idea how we’re going to explain this to anyone, but I don’t need to know the details.”  She took a deep breath.  “But you _will_ tell me if my morgue is in danger, won’t you, Phil?”

“I promise,” Phil told her.

Helen nodded once.  “Good.”  Her lips tilted up into a wry smile.  “Let me know if you need help with the report for this one, but otherwise, I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

Phil returned to studying the crime scene photos as Helen left.  The decomposition of the body all the way to the bones suggested the vampire had been old -- younger vampires, particularly those under fifty years undead, tended to stay somewhat squishy.  However, the rate of decomposition was the slowest Phil had ever seen for a vampire.  There would have been at least two hours between the photographs being taken and Helen’s first glimpse in the morgue.  That… that meant the vampire had been someone _powerful_ , and that was not good.  At all.

Phil slipped his phone out of his pocket.  Technically, he wasn’t supposed to have it in the autopsy room, but the death of an old, powerful vampire trumped protocol.  As he dialed Nick’s number, Phil flipped to another photograph, this time a close up of the vampire’s head.

_Mon Dieu._

Someone had killed Lord Roberto Gonzales of the Vampire Clan Council.  That shouldn’t have been _possible_.  A vampire that old and powerful did not get caught unawares, and there was no sign of any of his security team.  Phil’s mind spun dizzyingly with the implications and the chaos that would soon be spiraling through vampire society.

“...Phil?   _Phil_ ,” Nick’s voice broke through Phil’s thoughts.

“Nick,” Phil said hoarsely.

“What is it?” Nick demanded.  “Are you all right?  Do you need back up?”

Phil cleared his throat.  “I’m fine.  It’s not that kind of problem.”

Nick paused.  “So what kind of problem is it?” he asked.

“Well,” Phil said, blowing out a long breath.  “I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the remains of one of the Clan Council right now.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was ominous.  “Nick?” Phil said.

“Are you telling me someone _killed_ a member of the Vampire Clan Council?” Nick said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I think so,” Phil replied.  “I can’t be certain -- I don’t even know how you’d check for certainty in this -- but the remains are vampiric, Nick.  Someone old and powerful.”

“Who is it?” Nick demanded.

“If the crime scene photos are to be believed, Lord Gonzales,” Phil told him.

Nick’s answering stream of curses was both creative and inventively profane.  “This is going to send the city into chaos,” he said finally.

“I think we were more than halfway there already,” Phil said quietly.  “There are too many coincidences happening at once.  A new rogue vampire at the same time as a new drug based on vampire blood hits the street is one thing, but adding in the rumoured meeting between several old vampires and now the death of a _Councilor_ …”

“...It spells out the kind of conspiracy we’re not prepared for,” Nick finished.  “ _Fuck_.”

Phil ran a hand over his face.  “Maria was one of the detectives on scene if you want more details,” he said.  “Helen’s letting me handle the body on this end in case you need to see it, and I’ll try and keep this as quiet as I can, but I don’t think it’s going to stay quiet for long.”

“Yeah.”  Nick sighed.  “I’ll get Melinda and Jasper out on top of this.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Phil said.

“Thanks, Phil,” Nick replied, and hung up.

Phil stared down at his phone before blinked.  Covering up the body again, he headed towards his office with the file.  His old instincts were buzzing with warning, and Phil couldn’t help but think there was still a puzzle piece they were all missing.  Hopefully, a cup of coffee would help him work it out, because they could use the break.

<*>

About two hours later, Phil stepped out of his office in search of more coffee.  The morgue had been quiet all evening, but when he looked up, he found Daisy perched on the edge of Jemma’s desk, her head tilted towards Phil’s assistant.

“Yo there, Doc C,” Daisy greeted.

Phil blinked.  “Daisy,” he said.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Daisy smiled, and she looked better.  Grief was still etched in the lines bracketing her mouth and the corners of her eyes, but her shoulders were no longer bowed under an invisible weight.  “What?  I can’t drop by to see my favourite MEs?” Daisy said, not shifting away from Jemma.  Jemma ducked her head to hide a blush.

Phil offered Daisy a tight smile, worry still pressing down heavily on him.  He didn’t want to tell Daisy about the recent murder of Lord Gonzales, but like with Ward, she deserved to know.  Some of his feelings must have shown on his face, because Daisy frowned.

“What’s up, Doc?” she said, but her smile at the joke quickly faded.  “Your date didn’t go that badly, did it?”

“Wait,” Jemma said, blinking as a large smile crossed her face.  “Doctor Coulson had a date?”

Truthfully, Phil’s date with Clint felt like it had been more than just a day ago.  Even so, he couldn’t stop his own smile answering Jemma’s.  “I did, but I don’t suppose there’s a way to stop you talking about it, is there?” Phil said.

Daisy leaned closer to Jemma.  “It was with Detective Barton,” she said conspiratorially.  “I’ll tell you everything I know later.”

Jemma’s cheeks flushed and she looked so quietly pleased that Phil didn’t have the heart to protest.  “Did you have a reason for dropping by?” Phil asked Daisy.

“I did,” Daisy said, jumping off Jemma’s desk.  “Have you got a minute?”

Phil nodded.  “Of course.”

“I’ll fetch you a cup of coffee, Doctor Coulson,” Jemma offered.  “Would you like anything, Daisy?”

“A coffee would be great,” Daisy said with a bright smile.

Jemma ducked her head, her cheeks flushing again.  “Coming right up,” she replied.

After handing Jemma his mug, Phil headed back to his office, Daisy following.  He’d probably have to consider letting Jemma into his secret soon.  Even if Daisy never followed through on her feelings, Jemma would be an asset to have on their side, like Maria.

“So,” Phil said, moving to sit behind his desk.  “What can I help you with, Daisy?”

Daisy sat down in one of the guest chairs and sent Phil a shrewd look.  “First, what’s up with you?” she said.

Phil sighed.  It had been too much to think Daisy would leave it alone.  “A very old and powerful vampire was killed last night,” he said.  “And the… remains ended up in the morgue.”

Daisy’s eyes flew wide.  “Someone killed an _Old One_?” she said, using the slang the younger vampires preferred for the vampire elite.  “And there’s a _body_?”

“Not exactly,” Phil replied.  “Have you ever seen a vampire killed before?”

Daisy mutely shook her head.

“When a vampire truly dies, they decay,” Phil explained.  “Older vampires turn right into bones.  However, if a vampire is truly powerful, that decay happens much slower.  It’s as if whatever power holds us to life takes longer to dissipate.”

Daisy’s eyes seemed to get even wider.  “And this happened in the _morgue_?” she hissed.

“Part of it,” Phil said.

“Shit.”  Daisy got up and started pacing.  “That’s…”

A soft knock at the door interrupted her, and Jemma carefully peered inside, two mugs held in her hands.  “I bring coffee,” she said cheerfully.

“Thank you, Jemma,” Phil said.

Jemma set one of the mugs down on Phil’s desk and handed Daisy the other.  She glanced between them, her gaze darting back and forth, before she straightened.  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“That,” Phil said, blowing out a long breath, “is a long story.”

“Oh.”  Jemma dropped her eyes to the floor, her shoulders hunching.  “Of course.  I’m sorry…”

“No, Jemma,” Phil said, making a snap decision.  His instincts hadn’t lead him wrong yet.  “ _I’m_ sorry.  I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.  It’s just… complicated.”

The Vampire Clan Council had very specific rules about when and how they could tell humans about their existence, but with Nick on his side, Phil could probably get the Council to agree.  Or at least forgive Phil’s lapse.

“Actually, Doc,” Daisy said.  “Do you mind if I was the one to tell her?”

Phil turned to her, eyebrows raised.  “Are you certain?”

Daisy glanced at Jemma, and nodded once, her jaw firming.  “Yes.”

“Very well,” Phil said, standing.  He made sure to pick up his coffee mug, too.  When both Daisy and Jemma moved to leave, Phil held up a hand.  “No, please.  Use my office.  I have to make a phone call anyway.”

Phil retreated outside, sipping his coffee as he glanced around the empty morgue without really seeing it.  Conversations revealing the existence of vampires were always difficult.  Jemma was capable of handling the truth, otherwise Phil wouldn’t have considered telling her, but Phil also hoped her initial reaction didn’t irreparably break anything between her and Daisy.

Frowning, Phil reached up to scratch at his prickling collarbone.  It had been itching all morning.  Maybe the laundry service that washed the morgue’s scrubs had changed their detergent again.  Sighing, he dug out his phone and dialed Nick.  Phil needed to give him the warning about Daisy telling Jemma about vampires.  Besides, Nick was probably still awake doing his own investigating.

“Phil,” Nick greeted warmly.  “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

Phil raised an eyebrow even though Nick couldn’t see it.  “Oh?”

Nick chuckled.  “So how did the date go?” he asked.

Frowning again, Phil scratched at his collarbone and shifted the neck of his scrubs away from his throat.  “How did you know I had a date?”

“Daisy told Melinda during their last training session,” Nick said, sounding far too amused for Phil’s peace of mind.

Phil huffed.  “Speaking of Daisy, I need to warn you,” he said.  “She’s telling Jemma about vampires.  I thought it was about time Jemma was let in on the secret, and I was going to do it, but Daisy offered instead.”

Nick was silent for a beat.  “Is this because of Lord Gonzales?” he asked.

“Partially,” Phil agreed.  “But it’s also because Jemma has been watching all the closed door meetings I have with Daisy and Detective Hill, and…”

“And you don’t want your protégé to feel left out anymore,” Nick finished.

“Well,” Phil said.

“It’s fine, Phil,” Nick interrupted.  “I knew it was only a matter of time.  If the Council objects, I’ll help smooth it over.  I rather think they’ll be too busy worrying about other things, though.”

Phil grimaced.  “Yes.  I assume Maria has told you about the police being called about Gonzales’ body?”

“She did,” Nick replied.  “Shit, this is messy.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.  “If it helps, Helen has left the autopsy report in my hands, so I can… be a little vague on some of the official details.”

Nick snorted.  “I’m not sure vague is going to cut it, but thanks Phil.”  Nick paused and Phil drank more coffee as he waited out his old friend.  “There’s something else.  The Council wants to see us.”

Phil blinked.  “We’ve been summoned to Europe?” he said.

“No, actually,” Nick replied.  “Lady Victoria Hand has recently arrived in New York City.  She’s the one that issued the invitation.”

A wave of shock rolled through Phil and he stilled.  “That cannot be a coincidence,” he said.  Why would the Clan Council have sent _two_ members to New York at the same time?  As territorial as powerful vampires could be, sometimes that went doubly for the Clan Council.  “Two Clan Councillors in New York at the same time?  That’s unheard of.”

“You think Lady Hand had something to do with Lord Gonzales’ death?” Nick said mildly.  “Lady Hand has only just arrived in New York.  And, more than that, she’s a good woman, Phil.  She wouldn’t do this.”

Phil sighed.  “I know, but someone had to lure Lord Gonzales away from his guards.  Someone he _trusted_.”

“You suspect someone from the _Clan Council_ was involved?” Nick said.

“Who else could it have been?” Phil replied.  “Lord Gonzales was paranoid at the best of times.”

“Well, if you can slip away from the morgue tonight, we can find out,” Nick told him.  “Lady Hand wants to meet.”

Phil glanced over at the still closed door to his office.  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

<*>

Phil finally managed to slip away three hours later, as night was slowly turning into dawn.  There was still an hour or so until sunrise, but that didn’t mean Lady Hand would still be willing to meet them.  Powerful vampires rarely liked the sunlight, even if Phil suspected the Clan Councillors were all powerful enough not to be weakened much by it.

“What’s twisting your thoughts, Phil?” Nick asked quietly.

Sighing, Phil ran a hand over his face.  Nick had met him outside the morgue after Phil had assured himself that both Jemma and Daisy were going to be fine.  Jemma had still been a little pale when he’d left, but Jemma was stronger than she thought.

“You mean aside from the current mess we’re dealing with?” Phil said.

Nick raised an eyebrow.  “Are you grumpy because I didn’t call you with an update on things?”

“What?” Phil said, blinking.  “No?”

“Because I would have,” Nick said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt your _date_.”

Phil huffed.  “Oh, don’t you start this, too,” he muttered.

“Start what?” Nick said, his tone full of feigned innocence.

Glaring at Nick, Phil reached up to scratch at his collarbone.  “I assume Lady Hand is not just in New York to see us,” he said, pointedly changing the subject.

“No,” Nick agreed.  “However, what else she is here for remains a mystery.”

They soon reached the all-night diner where Nick had arranged to meet Lady Hand, and Phil was surprised to see Lady Hand was already inside.  Powerful vampires didn’t usually wait for _anyone_ and were more fond of making everyone else wait for them.  Lady Hand was sitting towards the back of the diner, her back facing the wall, but on first glance, she didn’t look out of place.  She was simply dressed in heels and a black jeans, and a red shirt rolled up to her elbows.  Her customary red streaks were still visible in her hair, as was her red lipstick, and she wore a pair of thin-framed glasses.  She didn’t need them, but they helped disguise the dark-red colour of her eyes.

Lady Hand was accompanied by her personal bodyguard, Isabelle Hartley.  Several centuries ago, Isabelle had been a Hound, and one of the best.  She and Phil had trained and hunted together, and he’d been sad when she’d left the Order after Lady Hand became one of the Clan Council.  Isabelle’s dark hair was shorter than Phil remembered, and she wore dark jeans, boots and a loose grey t-shirt that was presumably hiding a multitude of weaponry.  However, the t-shirt _did_ expose her arms and Phil’s eyes widened at the obvious soul marks running up each arm.

Phil only vaguely heard Nick’s greeting, his eyes flicking between Isabelle and Lady Hand.  Phil’d had no idea Isabelle had been Bonded, but that would explain why she’d left the Hounds when she’d once confessed to never wanting to.

Nick cleared his throat loudly.  “Phil?” he said in a low voice.

Shaking off the thoughts, Phil snapped his eyes back up to find Lady Hand watching him with faint amusement.  “Forgive me, Lady Hand…” he began, but she waved away his apologies.

“I understand completely, Lord Coulson,” Hand said.  Carefully, she reached over to undo the fancy metal and leather vambrace she always wore on her right arm.  Curling around her wrist was a delicate series of black lines that twisted together, a pattern that complimented the marks running down Isabelle’s arms.

“Not all of us like to flaunt it,” she said.

Behind her, Isabelle smirked.  “You _like_ it when I show off.”

Hand frowned and ignored her, but her eyes were soft.  “Not all of us believe that being Bonded is a prison sentence, either,” she said, looking directly at Phil.

As always, a jolt of fear ran through Phil at the power in those dark red eyes.  Hand delicately arched an eyebrow.  “I know you didn’t have the most pleasant introduction to our world, Phillip of Valois and Brittany, but there are those of us on the Clan Council who understand the true power of the bond,” Hand said.

“I, um, that is…” Phil stuttered, words refusing to dislodge from his throat.

Hand smirked.  “You may not understand my meaning yet, Lord Coulson, but you will,” she said.  “Now, if you gentlemen will join us, I shall get to the point of our meeting.”

“Sounds good to me,” Nick said, shooting Phil and indecipherable look before sliding into the seat opposite Lady Hand.

Phil took the empty seat next to Nick and tried to focus on what Lady Hand had brought them here to say.  Across the table, Isabelle grinned at him and sent him a wink.  Phil narrowed his eyes in reply, scratching absently at his collarbone through his shirt, because there was something neither Lady Hand nor Isabelle was saying.

“To get straight to the point,” Lady Hand said, “I’ve heard about Lord Gonzales.  What do you know about who killed him?”

“Not much,” Nick replied.  “Only that Lord Gonzales’ body was left for humans to find, and the police were called in.”  He glanced at Phil.  “His remains are currently in the New York City morgue.”

Phil nodded.  “I’ve been given the case, and an ally of ours, Detective Maria Hill, is in charge of the investigation, so there’s potential for clean up,” he said.  “There’s another problem, however.  Lord Gonzales was alone when he was killed.  There is no sign of any of his security detail being there.”

“No, they wouldn’t be,” Hand said.  “Lord Gonzales’ security team was found dead two blocks away.  I have Calderon’s team dealing with it.”

Tomas Calderon and his team were Hounds, so if a rogue was involved, they’d find out.  Phil didn’t really know Calderon, but his reputation said he was a harsh but fair man and a formidable warrior.

“Is this something we need to be concerned about?” Nick asked.

Hand turned to him and raised both eyebrows.  “I would assume the murder of one of the Clan Council would always be concerning, Nicholas,” she said.

Nick sent her a flat look.  “Two Councillors show up on my doorstep within days of each other, one gets murdered and you send a separate team of Hounds to investigate.  Don’t tell me I shouldn’t worry about more than Lord Gonzales’ death,” he said.  He sat back in his chair and let out a breath.  “You already know who’s responsible.”

Phil’s gaze flicked to Isabelle.  She was too good to let her thoughts show on her face, but her shoulders were tense, and her hand had strayed to where she usually kept a long knife holstered.

“I have my suspicions,” Hand admitted.

Phil closed his eyes as beside him Nick started cursing.  They’d both clearly come to the same conclusion, because there was only one reason why Hand would be so coy with the identity of her suspicions while Isabelle was so on edge:  it was one of the Clan Council.

“Well,” Phil said, opening his eyes again.  “This is going to make things difficult.”

<*>

 


	11. Chapter 11

11.

Phil jerked awake, a burning itch seering its way along his collarbones.  Unconsciously, he reached up to touch, his fingers catching in the soft fabric of the t-shirt he’d worn to bed.  The itch along his collarbones had been there all day, distracting him from his shift, and had only worsened when he’d returned to his apartment.  Nothing soothed the itch, and Phil could only be grateful that tonight was one of his nights off.

Throwing back the blankets, Phil staggered to the bathroom.  For the world outside, it was getting close to sunset, but Phil’s apartment was protected by blackout curtains, and he flipped on the light.  His own face stared back at him from the mirror, every wrinkle and tired crease visible.  Sometimes Phil hated that modern mirrors were no longer backed with silver.  Carefully, Phil pulled the neck of his t-shirt down to expose his collarbone and let out a shuddering breath.

_Fuck_.

Thick black marks now painted both of his collarbones and Phil yanked off his t-shirt to map the extent.  The marks extended all the way to his shoulders, where they wrapped in complex patterns around his biceps.  They were beautiful and haunting, and there was only one thing they could be:

Soul marks.

Phil’s heart pounded desperately against his ribs, question after question swirling through his head as he stood transfixed by his reflection.  He’d never expected this, not in a million centuries.  Part of Phil couldn’t even believe it was happening now.

A sudden pounding on his apartment door had Phil hastily pulling on his t-shirt again, and Phil’s heart gave a sudden thump.  If he’d been human, his breath would have caught in his throat, because there was only one person Phil was suddenly hoping was outside his door.  As impossible as it was.

When Phil opened the door, Clint glared back at him, hand still raised to knock and something hard and angry in his gaze.

“Hey there, Phil,” Clint growled.

Phil stepped back so that Clint could enter.  “Clint,” he greeted, a warmth washing through him at the mere sight of Clint.

Despite the anger, Clint looked good.  He wore another henley -- this one black -- over dark jeans, his usual leather jacket thrown over the top.  His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his shoulders were tense.

“So,” Clint said, spinning sharply to face Phil when he reached Phil’s small living room.  “Want to tell me why these appeared as I was enjoying my afternoon coffee?”

As he spoke, he yanked up the hem of his henley, revealing thick, twisting marks that swirled over the skin of his toned stomach.  The marks curled around Clint’s ribs on his left side, moving upwards to end just over his heart -- and the design matched Phil’s.  Phil swallowed heavily.

“Phil?” Clint snapped.

Phil closed his eyes.  “It’s a little hard to explain,” he said, his voice rough as hope and pain warred in his chest.

“ _Try_ ,” Clint said.

Opening his eyes again, Phil looked over at the man he’d come to love.  Somehow, over the last few months, Clint had become more important to Phil than even his own life.  He wasn’t sure how, but it was still undeniably true.  Phil wanted to walk over and run a calming hand down his arm, but Clint didn’t appear as if he’d welcome Phil’s touch.

“The marks mean that you are my soulmate,” Phil said, hoping the unvarnished truth would be enough.  “That we’re Bonded.”

“Bonded?” Clint echoed.  “When the hell did _that_ happen?  And what exactly does that _mean_?”

“It means that, as far as I understand it, our lives are bound together in a very real and not entirely symbolical sense,” Phil said.

“Use smaller words, Phil,” Clint growled.

Phil let out a slow, careful breath.  “I don’t know when it happened, and I don’t entirely know why.  What I _do_ know is that whatever force gives vampires life after death has bonded our life forces together and the marks are meant to show that.”

Truthfully, Phil only had a little information on how Bonding worked.  Most vampires scorned it, and the few that did have soulmates didn’t really talk about it.  Almost all of Phil’s knowledge about them had come from Nick, but even then Phil had been reluctant to ask questions that would be too intimate.  Or perhaps reveal the longing buried deep in Phil’s chest.

“So, what?” Clint snapped, throwing up his hands.  His eyes were narrowed and flinty, and Phil’s heart clenched painfully.  “We’re just supposed to live happily ever after now?”

“No.”  The word was out before Phil could stop it.  “I…  Clint, the Bond between us means that you’re not entirely human anymore and that you’ll probably live as long as I do.  As for anything else, _if_ we take things further, it will be like any relationship.  It will take work and patience, and we might spend decades apart.  Maybe even centuries.”

“Centuries?” Clint growled dangerously.

“I’m explaining this very badly,” Phil said, although that might have been a severe understatement.

Clint breathed out, his jaw clenching.  “So we’ve somehow just got vampire married?” he said.

“No.”  Phil shook his head, ignoring the sharp stabbing pain in heart.  “You may be my… Bonded, Clint, but I will not hold you to this.  You are free to leave whenever you want to, and never look back.”

Clint blinked.  “What?”

Phil forced a smile to his face despite the pain lancing through him.  This was hardly the first time he’d done something painful, after all.  “I can attempt to break the Bond,” he said.  “It shouldn’t affect you if I do.  At least, I don’t think…”

“No, hey, wait!” Clint said, eyes wide.  “I don’t… it’s not…”  He huffed and ran a hand through his hair.  “I was just surprised.  We’ve been on _one_ date, Phil.  I wasn’t ready to…”

“To be Bonded for life to someone who’s practically immortal,” Phil finished, straining to keep his voice level even as his smile cracked around the edges.  That was logical.  Smart, even.  Being Bonded to someone was a big step, even for a vampire.  Maybe _especially_ for a vampire.

“ _No_ ,” Clint said, sighing and running another hand through his hair.  He turned his wide gaze on Phil.  “To fall in love.”

Phil’s thoughts vanished like mist in the sunlight.  Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly.  “Um… what?”

Clint smiled ruefully, his gaze both resigned and bittersweet.  “To fall in love,” he repeated.  “I’ve fallen in love with you, Phil.”

“Oh,” Phil heard himself say as if from a great distance.  “That’s probably why the marks appeared.”

Clint snorted, looking away.  “Yeah, I get the concept of soulmates, Phil,” he snapped.

Phil didn’t actually think Clint _did_.  In the dark of the night when he’d dared let himself, Phil had always hoped that if he ended up Bonded, his mate would be happy.  That maybe his Bonded wouldn’t feel the same relief after centuries of longing, but that they at least _wanted_ Phil.  Of course, all of this had been a surprise to Clint, so Phil couldn’t blame him for his reaction.  Even so, his instincts were screaming that Phil’s next words might just be the most important of his immortal existence.  “No,” he told Clint, because his brain was beginning to catch up to the fact that Clint _was in love with him_.  “I mean, the marks appeared because I’m in love with you, too.”

Clint’s eyes snapped to his.  “You _are_?” he said quietly.

Phil had thought himself in love several times in his life, but nothing compared to the sharp swell of pressure in Phil’s chest every time he looked at Clint.  Even when Clint was angry with him, Phil just wanted to soak in Clint’s presence and maybe soothe some of the tension from Clint’s shoulders if Clint would let him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil said.  “Very much.”

Clint blew out a breath.  “Okay.  Okay, I can… okay.”

Helpless not to, Phil stepped forward and pulled Clint into his arms.  Clint shuddered and pressed his face into Phil’s shoulder.  Phil wound one arm around Clint’s waist and cupped the back of Clint’s head with the other.  “You know,” he said.  “I was going to build up to talking about most of this.  Including the potential difference in our lifespans.  I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to mention any of it for at least six months.”

Lifting his head, Clint raised both eyebrows.  “Were you ever going to mention soulmates?”

“Truthfully?” Phil replied, swallowing.  “I didn’t think this was a possibility.”  Not for him.

Clint seemed to hear his unspoken words, because his face softened.  “Well, then,” he said.  “Now that it _is_ a possibility -- now that you have me -- are you really just going to let me go?”

Phil blinked, but Clint had a point and seemed determined to make it.  “Am I not worth fighting for, Phil?” Clint said.

“I would die for you,” Phil replied without thought or hesitation.

“Phil,” Clint whispered.  “I don’t care how immortal you are, okay?  Let’s not call you dying Plan A.  Or Plan anything.”

Phil swallowed.  “Okay,” he agreed.

A blinding smile spread across Clint’s face as an answering hope so pure and overwhelming washed through Phil.  The truth of what Clint was saying was blazing brightly in his eyes, and warmth flooded Phil’s chest, leaving him shaking in its wake.  He couldn’t tell if it was relief or joy or some kind of combination of both.  Not that he cared enough to dissect his feelings when he could pull Clint in for a kiss instead.

“Good,” Clint muttered against his mouth.

Phil could agree to that.  He hummed in reply, hoping Clint would understand his meaning, because Phil didn’t want to stop kissing Clint and actually use words.  In reply, Clint deepened the kiss, and Phil groaned low in his throat at the sudden burst of heat, heady and fierce.  Phil drank Clint in like a starving man presented with a feast, hauling Clint in even closer until they were pressed chest to chest.

Clint tore his mouth away, chest heaving, but since Phil didn’t need to breathe, he leaned in to trail kisses down Clint’s throat.  Clint’s heartbeat pounded underneath his skin, his blood rushing temptingly beneath Clint’s skin.  The scent was warm and rich and faintly sweet, mixed with bright flares of lust and love that was almost Phil’s undoing.

“Phil,” Clint gasped.  “I didn’t, I mean…”

With great difficulty, Phil fought against the heat swimming through his veins and pulled back.  “Right,” he said, voice low and rough, even though he had no idea what point Clint was trying to make.

Clint groaned.  “ _Shit_.  Why am I arguing _against_ getting you naked?” he muttered.

“I really don’t know,” Phil said, but his lips twitched upwards into a smile.

Clint’s hands tightened on Phil’s waist when Phil moved to step back, pulling him in for another long, mind-melting kiss.  Phil went willingly, running his hands down Clint’s soft henley and feeling the firm muscle hidden underneath.  Phil opened his mouth under Clint’s, giving himself over to the rush of lust sliding under his skin.  Phil’s mouth ran dry as Clint’s clever fingers somehow snuck under his own t-shirt, and he couldn’t stop the gasp as Clint’s fingers slid up the skin of his stomach.

“You know,” Clint said, amusement threading through his voice as he nuzzled Phil’s jaw.  “I was going to wait until at least the third date before I attempted to get into your pants, but right now I really have no idea _why_.”

“Well, we can always wait anyway,” Phil said, attempting a dry tone, but his breath hitched in an all-too-human reaction when Clint nipped at a particularly sensitive spot below the hinge of jaw.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Clint growled, pulling out of Phil’s arms just enough to slid off his jacket and toss it over the back of the couch.

“Noted,” Phil managed to reply.

It was so easy to get lost in the storm of sensation Clint was invoking in him, pulling out all of his human gasps and groans, shattering the cool calm of his vampiric nature.  Maybe some other vampires could hold back in these moments, but Phil never could, as if the human he had once been was slipping out.  His hands tangled in Clint’s hair as Clint tugged him closer, Clint’s body hot and solid against his.  Clint’s faint stubble rasped against his skin as Clint slid his hands up to Phil’s shoulders and pulled until Phil was backing him up against the couch.

Phil bit back another groan, wanting to feel the glide of Clint’s fingers on his naked skin.  Clint gently tugged off Phil’s shirt, his gaze immediately dropping to Phil’s collarbones.  With a light touch, Clint traced the marks with his fingertips.  His eyes were dark and hungry, and his gaze set Phil’s heart pounding and his blood racing in an echo of Clint’s.

“ _Clint,_ ” Phil rasped, burning with the need to do the same, to follow the patterns on Clint’s skin and assure himself that Clint was _his_ , the one he’d been hoping and longing for over all the centuries.

Smirking, Clint leaned down to bite Phil’s collarbone, right over one of Phil’s new marks.  The spark of pain flared sharply before melting back into the bright heat building up from Phil’s stomach.

“Okay, can we go to bed now?” Clint murmured against Phil’s skin.

Phil shivered, suddenly feeling so turned on he was almost dizzy with it.  “Excellent plan,” he said.  “Although, I feel as if I somehow I was supposed to be the one doing the seducing?”

Clint chuckled roughly.  “Am I seducing you, Phil?” he teased.  “Despite all your centuries?”

“Clint,” Phil said helplessly.  “You’ve been seducing me since we met, just by being yourself.”

Closing his eyes, Clint leaned forward to rest his forehead against Phil’s.  Taking his opportunity, Phil reached up to cup Clint’s cheek, his his thumb stroking along Clint’s cheekbone.  “Too much?” he asked.

“No,” Clint said.  “Just about perfect.”

Clint traced one of his broad palms up the length of Phil’s spine, and Phil arched towards him with a groan, his leg slipping between Clint’s.  Clint caught Phil’s mouth in another scorching kiss, and giving no ground, used the advantage of surprise to spin them around and push Phil up against a nearby wall.  Grinning into the kiss, Phil couldn’t help the way his hands tightened on Clint’s shoulders.

When Clint pulled away to suck in a sharp breath, Phil stripped off his henley and tossed it uncaring to the floor, his eyes locked on the wide expanse of skin he’d revealed.  Clint’s beautiful hawk tattoo still covered his left shoulder, but Phil couldn’t tear his eyes away from the twisting, black soul marks.  Tears prickled Phil’s eyes, but he refused to give into them, instead leaning down to press his mouth to the marks just over Clint’s heart.  Clint let out a startled gasp, and Phil revelled in the sound.

When Phil finally dragged his gaze back up to Clint’s face, he caught sight of Clint’s flushed cheeks, disheveled hair and kiss-swollen lips.  The heady scent of Clint’s blood surrounded him, thrumming with life beneath Clint’s skin, and the words he’d been about to say died in his throat.  Fuck, Clint was beautiful.  Phil surged forwards, his mouth hot and greedy on Clint’s.  The sensation of Clint’s warm skin against his was even better than Phil had imagined, and he lost himself to the feeling, greedily swallowing the sounds Clint was making.

Pulling back, Clint panted into Phil’s mouth for a moment.  “Phil, wait,” he said, his cheeks flushing a darker red.  “I just wanted to say, for the record, that I’m totally okay with you biting me.  You know, if you want to.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Phil’s hand tightened where they were buried in Clint’s hair, and his hips jerked forward.  Phil’s fangs itched with the need to tilt Clint’s head to the side and just sink right into the vein.  Clint’s blood would be hot and sweet on his tongue, and Phil _wanted_.

When Phil opened eyes he hadn’t even noticed he’d closed, Clint was watching him, his own gaze dark.  “I take it you like that idea, too, huh?” Clint breathed, leaning in until his lips brushed Phil’s as he spoke.

Phil couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips.  “Shall I show you how much?”

Clint let out a soft groan, arching forward and Phil dipped his head for another kiss.  Together, they stumbled towards Phil’s bedroom, Phil trying to guide them both between kisses.  Along the way, Clint kicked off his boots as Phil stumbled along behind him.  The material of Clint’s jeans was rough against Phil’s fingers as he fumbled with Clint’s belt, all Phil’s decades of suave sophistication deserting him.

Catching Phil’s hand, Clint pulled him back towards the bed.  He stumbled slightly when the back of his knees hit the mattress, and laughed softly when Phil reached out to steady him.

“Careful,” Phil admonished softly, trying not to be distracted by the way Clint’s dark gaze slid over his naked chest.

Phil might work as a medical examiner these days, but he still attempted to keep in shape.  It was admittedly easier as a vampire than it ever had been as a human, but Phil had been a warrior for centuries and it showed.  He might not have Clint’s defined muscle, but judging by Clint’s suddenly clumsy fingers, Clint wasn’t going to complain.

Unable to resist Clint standing so close, Phil caught Clint’s mouth in another hungry kiss, gasping when Clint sneakily sent him sprawling back across the unmade bed.  Clint swallowed, his throat bobbing, and he stared down at Phil like he still wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here, together.  Phil’s undead heart squeezed in his chest.

Cursing under his breath, Clint yanked off his jeans and underwear and kicked them away before doing the same to Phil’s pajama pants.  Phil clenched his hands in the sheets as he lifted his hands to help, unable to keep his off Clint.  He wanted to map out every inch of Clint’s skin, learn the dips and scars, and drown in the taste of him.  Now that he could, Phil let his eyes trace a path from Clint’s flushed cock, over his stomach and chest and up to his face.

Clint gently pushed Phil down onto the bed and then followed, carefully straddling Phil’s hips one knee at a time.  Phil shivered, letting his legs fall open so Clint could settle between them.  His eyes slid shut as Clint’s broad palm slid up his thigh, heat crackling over his skin.  Phil’s stomach clenched, one of his hands sliding up Clint’s back, feeling the muscles rippling under his hand.

“You’re still so cool,” Clint said, running his own hands down Phil’s arms and lingering at the marks on Phil’s biceps.

“Sorry,” Phil apologized, blinking open his eyes again.  “I haven’t fed recently.  It’s…”

“No,” Clint interrupted.  “It’s good.”  He flushed faintly.  “I think I can have fun with that later.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, but he couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his face.  “Oh, really?”

Clint scratched his nails down Phil’s sides in retaliation, making Phil hiss through his teeth.  Impatiently, Phil reached for him, desperate to feel Clint’s skin against his.  Clint let himself be tugged, stretching out over Phil, and caught Phil’s lips in another kiss, hot and perfect.  Clint had a way of making him feel out of control, like he was burning up from the inside out, sparks of heat flickering under his skin.  When Clint pulled back, panting, Phil let him go so he could watch all the expressions flickering across Clint’s face.  Fuck, Phil would endure centuries of hell for just one lifetime with Clint.

Phil stared up at Clint, trying to sear the perfect moment into his memory.  “I have a request, if you’re agreeable,” he said.

Clint swallowed noticeably.  “Oh?”

It had been a while since Phil had taken a lover, particularly one that he trusted like Clint.  Someone who knew _what_ he was.  Phil had always preferred an emotional connection with his partner rather than just the bodily pleasure of the act.  Not that he didn’t have _many_ fantasies in mind for what he wanted to do with Clint -- and for Clint to do to him.  Clint’s arms alone were responsible for a significant number of them.  But right now there was one thing Phil craved the most.

“I was hoping that you could take me,” he said.  “To fuck me, if we use the modern vernacular.”

Clint sucked in a shaky breath.  “I can do that,” he said.

“Good,” Phil said.

Curling a hand into Clint’s hair, Phil dragged him in for a kiss.  The hot press of Clint’s naked skin against his sent another shiver down Phil’s spine.  Clint’s hips jerked up, and he gasped when Phil took the opportunity to nip at his bottom lip.  Then breaking the kiss, Phil shifted away and stretched for his bedside drawer.  He cursed because he couldn’t find the bottle of lube he could have _sworn_ was in there somewhere, but he eventually managed to close his hand around it.  Just in time, too, with the distracting way Clint was trailing his hands up Phil’s thighs.

When Phil dropped the bottle and a condom onto the bed, Clint caught his hand and raised it so that Phil’s arm was gently pinned above his head.  Phil didn’t resist because he trusted Clint, and Clint clearly had a plan.

“Phil?” Clint’s breath was warm on his ear and his stubble scraped along Phil’s skin as Clint mouthed at his jaw.

“Mm?” Phil managed, already lost to sensation.

“Can I?” Clint asked, and Phil shivered at the rough-edge to Clint’s voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil hissed, unable to deny Clint anything he really wanted.

Chuckling, Clint leaned in for another kiss, and Phil gave into it, revelling in the feeling of Clint’s arms around him, protective and safe.  Eventually, one of Clint’s hands disappeared, presumably to grab the lube, and Phil reluctantly pulled back to give him some space.  There were probably easier ways to do this, but right now Phil couldn’t bring himself to let Clint go, wanting to keep as much skin pressed against his as possible.

Phil shivered at the first brush of Clint’s lubed finger between his legs.  Smirking faintly, Clint pressed a kiss to Phil’s chest, just above his heart.  His finger drifted closer to where Phil wanted it, and Phil’s breath stuttered, his eyes sliding shut.  It had been so _long_.  Need coiled tight in Phil’s gut and he gasped when Clint slid his finger _inside_ , unashamedly spreading his legs wider.

Clint took his time, stretching Phil slowly.  He distracted Phil with more kisses to his chest and stomach, alternating between twisting his fingers and brushing against Phil’s prostate.  He kept teasing Phil until Phil was a shuddering mess of crackling nerve-endings and _want_.  If Phil had still been human, he’d have been panting, and his cock was almost so hard it was painful.

“ _Please_ ,” Phil said, arching his back to push down harder on Clint’s fingers.

Clint slipped his fingers free, his hand shaking as he reached for the condom.  It was a rush to see how much Clint -- who was usually so competent and capable -- wanted this.  Wanted _Phil_.  It set off something warm and sparking deep in Phil’s chest.

“So, uh,” Clint said, looking suddenly awkward.  “How do you want to do this?”

Phil hummed, considering.  With a smirk and a small burst of vampiric strength, Phil flipped them over so that Clint was lying on his back among the sheets.  His eyes were gratifyingly wide.  “Like this, I think,” Phil said.

Clint sucked in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing.  “Okay, we are going to revisit that strength thing later,” he muttered.

Phil smiled, because he could work with that, and also Clint was lying flushed and naked beneath him, looking like everything that Phil had ever wanted.  Phil had a lot to smile about right now.  He slid a palm down Clint’s chest from his collarbones to his stomach, watching Clint shiver at his touch.  Dipping his head, Phil trailed kisses down Clint’s neck and skimmed a hand tauntingly over Clint’s stomach.  He smiled against Clint’s skin as Clint dug his fingers into Phil’s arms hard enough to bruise as his back bowed.

“Phil,” Clint growled, his head falling back as Phil bit the pulse point on his throat with human teeth.  The urge to sink his fangs into skin was getting stronger, but there was something Phil wanted first.

Rising up a little, Phil kept his eyes locked with Clint’s dark ones, and reached behind him.  Phil lined himself up, Clint’s cock nudging his entrance, and then he sank down.  Clint gasped, his back bowing and his hands grabbing at Phil’s thighs.  By the time Phil had sunk all the way down, even Phil was gasping, his mind lost to the way Clint felt so deep inside him, hot and perfect inside him, spreading him open.

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint breathed, and Phil blinked down at him.  He was caught in Clint’s intense gaze, but he was a willing victim.  The world had narrowed down to just the two of them, and Phil felt raw, stripped down to only his most essential parts.

Phil hummed, electricity sparking up and down his spine, and he rolled his hips in a way a courtesan had taught him four centuries ago, delighted when Clint’s moan trailed off into a whimper.  “Holy shit,” Clint said, his eyes dazed.  “ _Do that again_.”

Smirking, Phil did as Clint demanded, but his smirk faded when Clint thrust up to meet him.  Clint fucked him harder and Phil let his head fall back, breath hitching with every snap of Clint’s hip.  Phil cursed in a mangled mixture of French and English, barely hanging on to the ragged edges of his control.

“You feel so _good_ , Phil,” Clint said hoarsely, and Phil suddenly _needed_ to kiss him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clint surged surged up into a sitting position, his hands tight around Phil’s waist and displaying impressive strength.  Phil couldn’t stop his soft groan, because _damn_.  The movement changed the angle of Clint’s thrusts, and Phil’s thighs strained to keep the rhythm, but Phil didn’t care.  He craved the closeness, needing to press his lips to Clint’s and swallow Clint’s groans.

Phil bucked inelegantly into Clint’s thrusts, anchored by Clint’s grip on his waist and bicep.  He reached out to cup Clint’s face, stroking Clint’s cheek with his thumb because Clint was _beautiful_.  His chest felt tight at everything that was echoed in Clint’s intent gaze, so he pulled Clint in for a desperate kiss.  It was messy and wet and Phil groaned as Clint scraped his nails down the sweat-slick skin of Phil’s back.

Clint shifted _just right_ , one broad hand steady on the small of Phil’s back.  Pressure built between them, hot and sharp, fire spreading out from Phil’s stomach.  His cock was still caught between them, and the rough slide drew a desperate whimper from Phil’s throat.

He was _so close_ , but he just _needed_ -

“Go on,” Clint said in Phil’s ear, his voice rough.  He tilted his head just so, and Phil’s eyes locked onto his neck.  “I trust you, Phil.”

Phil couldn’t hold back anymore, so he didn’t try.  How was he supposed to resist a gift so sweet?

He dipped his head to press a kiss to where Clint’s neck met his shoulder, and Clint let his head fall back.  Phil tangled his hand into Clint’s hair, moving Clint where he wanted him as his fangs slid out.  Phil revelled in the warm, rich scent of Clint’s blood, savouring the moment, and then he dipped his head and _tasted_.  He let out a groan as his fangs slid through Clint’s skin and blood flooded his mouth.  It was moments like this that reminded Phil how inhuman he really was, because the blood only tasted sweet and full of _life_ , like a fizzing tang swirling across his tongue.  He could taste the love and trust and passion that Clint was feeling, and shivers trailed across Phil’s skin.  The world became a mix of almost painfully pleasurable colours, sounds and tastes behind Phil’s closed eyes.  Slowly, the colours and sounds began to merge together, until they burned through his body and almost consumed him.

Clint cried out helplessly, his hips jerking.  His thrusts got rougher as his rhythm faltered, his hand settling on Phil’s arm and clenching tight.  He hissed out Phil’s name, his control fracturing and close to the edge, and Phil gave himself over to it.  The taste of _Clint_ was still bright on his tongue, and he was beyond anything as waves of burning sensation flooded him, his fangs still deep inside Clint’s neck.  

Clint gave a final thrust, sending crackling, burning pleasure spiralling outwards through Phil.  Clint groaned roughly, his muscles flexing and straining under Phil’s palms, and Phil was _gone_.

Blinking back to himself, Phil sucked in a shuddering breath, slumping forwards and trusting Clint to catch him.  Clint’s arms settled around him, holding him close and Phil savoured the sensation of Clint’s sweaty skin against his, the echoes of a very nice orgasm still tingling through him.  After a minute or so, Phil untangled them so Clint’s cock could slip free and then helped Clint deal with the condom.

Afterwards, Phil gently urged Clint to collapse onto the clean part of the mattress, and watched him suck in a shuddering breath.  He was flushed and gorgeous, and Phil couldn’t resist curling up beside him, Clint solid and warm against his side and his heartbeat beating reassuringly in his ears.  Clint looked none the worse for Phil’s feeding, and Phil, in comparison, felt energized and _full_.  It had been a long time since Phil had ‘fed from the vein’ as it were, but blood and sex had _never_ felt like that before Clint.

“Hey,” Clint said, turning his head to face Phil.  The depth of honesty and _love_ in Clint’s eyes was almost too much.  “You okay, Phil?”

Phil wrapped his arm tighter around Clint, not willing to let him go yet.  He should probably be persuading Clint into the bathroom to clean up, should get up to change the sheets, but instead he just snuggled closer to Clint.  “I’m very okay,” Phil said, his voice still gravelly.

Clint stroked his hand down Phil’s back, and Phil tilted his head up for a soft, languid kiss.  Laughter bubbled in Phil’s chest, a soft, soothing warmth, and he pressed closer to Clint just because he could.

“I think this is where I fall asleep on you,” Clint muttered, but his gaze was lazy and satiated.  It was a good look on him, and Phil vowed to put it on his face as often as possible.

With a quiet hum, Phil propped his chin on Clint’s chest and let his fingers trace patterns across Clint’s skin.  “You should probably shower first,” he replied.

Clint chuckled.  “Are you going to join me, Doc?”

Phil stretched up for another kiss.  He was content, happy in a way he’d never thought he’d get to be.  “As soon as I change the sheets, yes,” he said.

“Practical,” Clint said.

Phil shrugged, because he was.  There was no denying it.  Clint smiled again, running the tips of his fingers over Phil’s cheek.  “It’s okay,” he told Phil.  “I like practical.”

Rolling his eyes to hide his blush, Phil finally made himself climb off the bed.  “Shower,” he said, offering Clint a hand.

Phil cleaned the bedroom quickly, the energy he’d gotten from feeding on Clint’s blood still buzzing under his skin.  Then he joined Clint in the shower, lured in by Clint’s grin and miles of wet, golden skin, and they lingered far too long, indulging in soft caresses and lazy kisses until Clint couldn’t hide his yawns anymore.

Phil helped him dry off and didn’t protest when Clint grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards his bedroom.  He wouldn’t sleep, not so soon after waking up, but Phil couldn’t deny the temptation of dozing somewhere warm with Clint wrapped in his arms.  As soon as Clint was lying down, his hearing aides sitting carefully on the table beside the bed, he threw an arm over Phil’s waist and rolled over so he could press his face into Phil’s shoulder.

_Sleep, Clint_ , Phil signed when Clint shifted again, and all the clumsy practice was worth it for the bright awe in Clint’s eyes.

Clint nodded, his smile soft and sweet, and Phil tightened his arms around Clint.  He wanted to spend eternity tangled up in bed with Clint, as impossible as that was, but he’d settle for watching over Clint during the night, if only for the joy of waking up beside the man he loved.

<*>

 


	12. Chapter 12

12.

Phil blinked awake slowly, long after sunrise.  He was warm, which was unusual, and content, which was even more rare.  It took Phil a moment to place why.  There was a strong arm wrapped securely around his waist, and a line of heat all the way down his back.   _Clint_.

When Phil tried to roll over to face him, Clint groaned and tightened his grip.  “No,” he mumbled, mashing his face into the skin between Phil’s shoulder blades.  “Too early.”

Phil glanced at the clock on his bedside table and blinked.  It was already eight a.m., although he didn’t voice his surprise.  Clint had taken his hearing aides out earlier and with Phil facing away from him, Clint might not hear Phil’s words.  Although apparently, Phil didn’t actually need to voice any of this out loud -- Clint pressed closer and grumbled into his shoulder.  “Don’ care,” he slurred.  “Day off.”

“Okay,” Phil said, giving in.  He wasn’t sure if that meant Clint already had the day off, or was going to take it as a day off, but Phil didn’t push.  Besides, this was nice.

Phil closed his eyes and let Clint go back to sleep.  Phil wouldn’t be able to join him, because vampire sleep was different to human sleep, but he could drift.  Frankly, Phil was amazed he’d been able to sleep past dawn.  He hadn’t done that since he’d been turned into a vampire.

Clint woke about two hours later, his grip around Phil’s waist finally loosening enough for Phil to roll over.  When he did, he was greeted by Clint’s squinty-eyed disgruntlement, his hair sleep mussed.  Phil smiled.  “Good morning,” he said.

Unable to help himself, Phil laid his hand over Clint’s heart -- and part of the new soul mark that painted Clint’s skin.  Clint’s heartbeat was reassuringly steady under Phil’s palm.

“Hey,” Clint greeted, his mouth curling up into a sweet smile.  Then he frowned.  “Fuck, I need to piss.”

Phil laughed.  He couldn’t help it.  This was the man he would gladly spend the rest of his eternal existence with.

Clint’s cheeks went pink.  “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Phil said, waving away Clint’s apology.  “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

Clint shot him a glare and climbed out of bed while Phil brazenly watched.  Clint, naked, was an impressive sight to behold.

Deciding to be a good boyfriend, Phil got up just after Clint disappeared into the bathroom.  He pulled on a pair of pajama pants and headed for the kitchen to put the coffee on, because Clint probably drank more of it than Phil did.  Clint joined him just as he was pouring coffee into two mugs.  Sadly, Clint was wearing his jeans now, but he hadn’t bothered with a shirt, so Phil wouldn’t complain.  The expanse of naked skin also let Phil trail his gaze along Clint’s soul marks, and he had to resist the urge to pinch himself.  Part of him still didn’t believe it was true.  A part that got smaller every time Clint smiled at him, reminding him that he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Clint raised both eyebrows when he caught Phil staring.  “You okay?” he asked.

Phil nodded and, smiling, passed over Clint’s coffee.  Clint had put his hearing aides back in, presumably at the same time he’d found his pants, but warmth still curled through Phil every time Clint trusted him enough to be vulnerable.  He could imagine years of quiet mornings like this, just Clint and him drinking coffee in the kitchen, although Phil was going to make a point of practicing his ASL until he was fluent so Clint didn’t have to put in his hearing aides if they wanted to talk.

“You’re thinking increasingly sappy thoughts, aren’t you?” Clint said.

Phil refused to blush.  “Guilty,” he said.  “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Clint replied with a soft smile.  “I don’t mind.  Just don’t tell Nat I said that.  She’ll never let me live it down.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Phil told him.

Clint put down his mug and stepped right into Phil’s space.  “I know,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

Unfortunately, before Phil could deepen the kiss and maybe coax Clint back to his bed, someone knocked on Phil’s door.  He pulled back with a frown.  There were only a few people that could be, and none of their reasons would be good.

“Something always interrupts us, doesn’t it?” Clint said with a sigh.

Phil pressed a brief kiss to Clint’s lips.  “We have time,” he replied.

Clint smiled and ducked his head.  “Sap.”

Whoever was at the door knocked again.  “Phil?” Daisy called out.  “Are you awake?”

Phil debated whether or not he had the time to grab a shirt before Daisy picked the lock.  He sighed.  “I’d better get that,” he said.

Clint jerked a thumb towards Phil’s bedroom.  “I’m going to get… clothes.”

Despite his years as a soldier and his centuries as a vampire, Phil’s manners still insisted that he find a shirt because his current state of undress was not fit for company.  Well, company other than Clint.  By the time he’d ducked into his bedroom and grabbed a clean t-shirt -- and absolutely _not_ given into temptation to run a hand down Clint’s naked back -- his front door was clicking unlocked.  Pulling the hem of his shirt down, Phil walked out of his bedroom and arched an eyebrow.  Daisy blinked at him from her crouch in his doorway before rising smoothly to her feet.  She shoved her lock picks back into her jacket pocket and smiled brightly.

“Hi, Phil,” she greeted.

“Daisy,” Phil replied.

When Daisy didn’t say anything else, Phil raised both eyebrows.  “So what was so important that you couldn’t call?”

Daisy snorted.  “Please, like me visiting isn’t a way of keeping you from becoming a social hermit,” she said.  She blinked.  “Wait.  Doc, do you have _company_?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Phil said.

Thankfully, Clint peeked around the corner, now wearing one of Phil’s old t-shirts, and his entrance managed to interrupt whatever teasing Daisy was about to voice.  “Ah, hi?” Clint greeted, waving adorably.

Daisy grinned fiercely and held out her fist towards Phil.  “ _Nice_ ,” she whispered.

Phil blinked at Daisy, and she huffed, waggling her fist a little before rolling her eyes and dropping it.  “Hi,” she said brightly, turning to Clint.  “I’m Daisy.”

“The PI, right?” Clint said, stepping further into Phil’s small hallway.  “I’ve seen you around the taskforce.”  He offered Daisy a hand only somewhat awkwardly.  “I’m Detective Barton.  Umm, Clint.”

Warmth spread through Phil’s chest at the effort Clint was putting in to make a good impression.  Unfortunately, Daisy was, well, Daisy.

“It’s _definitely_ good to meet you, Clint,” Daisy said with a smirk and enough inflection in her words to suggest she was implying something.  “I guess you’re the one to thank that the Doc-”

“ _Please_ don’t finish that sentence,” Phil interrupted.

Still smirking, Daisy peered at Phil.  “Are you _blushing_?”

“Who wants coffee?” Clint asked loudly and bless his soul.

“Okay, okay,” Daisy said.  “I’ll shut up in exchange for coffee.”

Because it was his apartment and hosting duties were his, Phil headed for the kitchen to pour Daisy a mug of coffee.  Clint followed and Daisy wandered behind him, still smirking.  She took her usual seat at the kitchen counter and slumped forward, watching Phil and Clint with amusement.

“So,” Daisy drawled, drawing out the word and clearly looking for gossip.

“So, what brings you to my kitchen this morning, Daisy?” Phil asked, setting a mug down in front of her.

Daisy’s gaze flicked towards Clint and she hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Phil said quietly.  “Clint knows.  You can talk in front of him.”

Daisy sent him a flat look.  “Except for the part where what we did was technically _illegal_ ,” she whispered back.

Oh.  Phil hadn’t actually thought of that.  He turned to Clint to explain, only to find Clint frowning at him.  “Clint?” he said, hoping Clint wasn’t about to get mad at him.

Clint immediately ducked his head.  “Sorry, it’s…” he replied, wiggling his fingers near his ear.  “Also, I’m pretty sure Daisy just said the word ‘illegal’.”

“I did,” Daisy agreed dryly.

She immediately launched into an explanation, but what made Phil’s heart clench painfully in his chest was that the explanation wasn’t just verbal.  Daisy’s fingers moved along with her words, signing expertly and with confidence.  Clint listened intently, his eyes alternating between Daisy’s mouth and hands.

“So,” Clint said when Daisy had finished.  “You’re a…”  He brought his hands up to his mouth and used two fingers to imitate fangs.

Daisy laughed.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not the sign for vampires, Barton.”

Clint shrugged unrepentantly and smiled back.  His gaze flicked to Phil, but Phil wasn’t sure what Clint was looking for.  Phil wanted Clint to be a part of his life and he wasn’t going to hold anything back.

“In answer to your question, yes she is,” Phil said quietly, glancing at Daisy.  He wasn’t keeping the truth from Clint, but he also didn’t want to reveal details Daisy wasn’t prepared to reveal.

Daisy rolled her eyes.  “I was bitten by a rogue vampire about a year ago,” she said.  “It was pretty terrifying for a while, but Coulson found me when I, um…”  She glanced at Clint, who grinned.

“Don’t worry, I’m homicide, not robbery,” he said.  “I won’t arrest you for breaking into the morgue.”

Daisy’s jaw went slack.  “How did you know I broke into the morgue?” she demanded.

Clint shrugged, but his warm gaze strayed to Phil as he sipped his coffee.  “Well, it is Phil’s second home,” he said dryly.  “I’m pretty sure he spends more time in the morgue than he does his own apartment.  Where else would you find him?”

“That’s true,” Daisy agreed.  “I was almost disappointed when I met the Doc, to be honest.  Vampire movies always seem to have way more skulking in shadows than nerdy crime solving.”

Phil felt like he should protest, but he couldn’t really refute their words.

“Anyway,” Daisy said.  “Can I actually tell you what I found out from the bugs now?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, pulling over a stool so he could sit opposite her.  “Okay.”

Phil rolled his eyes and went to make more coffee.  Something told him he was going to need it.

“Most of the beginning was boring,” Daisy said.  “Just human security teams scoping everything out.  Although they did bring a witch.”

Clint blinked.  “Wait, witches are a thing?”

Phil nodded as he flipped the coffee machine on to percolate, making sure to turn around so Clint could watch his lips if he needed to.  “Yes,” he replied.  “Most don’t stray from their covens, though.”  He raised an eyebrow at Daisy.  “Should we be concerned?”

Daisy shook her head.  “It was contract work and she wasn’t impressed by her clients.  She spoke with some sort of eastern European accent, though, so I’m guessing she’s new in town?  And she had a brother who was hovering pretty close.”

Phil made a mental note anyway.  New York might be a big city, but it was always a good idea to keep an ear to the ground about all things supernatural.  Safer that way.

Glancing at Daisy, Phil raised an eyebrow.  She was almost vibrating with excitement.  “So what else did you find out?” he asked.

“I know what Extremis is,” Daisy blurted out.

“You mean, aside from a dangerous drug that makes vampires blow up?” Phil said dryly.

Clint frowned.  “Wait.   _Extremis_ caused the explosion downtown last week?”

“Nick didn’t tell you?” Phil said with his own frown.

Clint shook his head before fixing Daisy with a sharp stare.  “So what _is_ it?”

“Well, to start with,” Daisy replied, “it’s not just vampire blood.  It’s _silver_.  A silver chloride and silver sulfate mix, to be precise.”

Phil closed his eyes and cursed in French.  The only samples of Extremis that he and Jasper had been able to analyse had either been degraded or mixed with fresh human blood, but Phil should have seen it.  Silver compounds -- particularly those soluble in water -- would cause an uncontrollable chain reaction if they were released into a vampire’s bloodstream.  Silver had the ability to bond with vampire blood proteins, and for a human, this would result in the strength and speed the addicts were reported to possess.  The effects would only wear off when all of the vampire blood had completely reacted, and human addicts would only have a finite amount in their systems.  Vampire addicts, on the other hand, would experience even more enhanced speed and strength, but the reaction would spiral, causing the destructive results that had Nick so worried.

“Phil?” Clint asked tentatively.  “What is it?”

Blinking open his eyes, Phil let out a slow breath and explained his suspicions.  Clint frowned grimly, and Daisy let out a few curses of her own.  “We should tell Nick,” Phil said.

Clint nodded.  “Nat and Maria should be there, too,” he said.  “Does Sam know about… all this?”

“Not officially,” Phil replied.

“We should change that,” Clint said softly.  “Sam’s a good guy.”

“We should,” Phil agreed.  “But for now, I think we need to gather the taskforce and compare information.”  He glanced at Daisy.  “You can finish your explanation there.”

Daisy nodded.  “Got it, Doc.”

Phil breathed out.  “All right,” he said.  “Clint and I will go get changed.”

<*>

Phil retreated to his bedroom, Clint following.  He pulled a pair of jeans out of a drawer and then paused, a thousand thoughts tumbling through his mind.  They weren’t all on what Daisy had told him, either.

“Hey.”  Clint’s voice was soft, and the hand he rested on Phil’s shoulder was warm.  “You okay?”

Phil turned to face Clint and offered him a small smile.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Just not exactly how I envisioned spending my morning.”

“You and me, both,” Clint replied.  He slid his hand soothingly down Phil’s arm from his shoulder until he could tangle their fingers together.  “We’ve got time, remember?  So solving vampire conspiracy now, lazy breakfast later?”

The echo of his own words sparked through Phil and he stepped in to lean his forehead against Clint’s.  “Protect and serve,” he muttered.

“Someone has to,” Clint whispered back.

Clint leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Phil’s lips and Phil lost himself to the warmth of it until Clint pulled away.  “Come on,” Clint said.  “Daisy’s waiting.”

<*>

Phil called ahead, and when they got to the temporary headquarters of Nick’s task force, Jasper was waiting for them.  Jasper looked tired, his shoulders sagging, and it seemed more than just the effects of daylight.  Phil wanted to urge his old friend to get some sleep or have a feed, but they probably didn’t have time for either right now.

“Phil,” Jasper greeted with a nod.

“Jasper,” Phil replied.

None of Phil’s -- or Clint’s -- new soul marks were showing, but Jasper studied Phil with an intense, narrow-eyed look all the up to the fifth floor in the elevator.  Since Daisy and Clint were distracting each other with nervous chatter, Phil felt safe in arching an eyebrow in Jasper’s direction.  “What?” he asked.

“You look… happy,” Jasper said.

Phil couldn’t stop his smile.  “I am.”

Jasper’s eyes widened and he glanced between Phil and Clint.  Phil almost blurted out that he and Clint were Bonded, but now was neither the time nor the place.  He resolved to tell his friends soon, though.  Nick, Melinda and Jasper would all be happy for him, and Phil could already feel an itch setting in underneath his skin.  He hadn’t kept a secret like this from his friends in _centuries_ , and if it wouldn’t be derailing his purpose, he wouldn’t be keeping it now, either.

Besides, he should probably have a conversation about things with Clint first.

Jasper socked him in the arm.  “Happy is a good look on you,” he said.

“Thanks, Jas,” Phil replied.

Nick was waiting for them when they stepped off the elevator, Maria and Natasha talking quietly just behind him, and Melinda was standing beside a seated Detective Sam Wilson in front of her desk.  Sam looked a little pale and he was clutching a glass of water tightly.  Raising both eyebrows, Phil glanced at Nick.  Nick shrugged in reply.

_(Helpful, Nicholas.  Thanks_.)

“So,” Nick said, turning to Daisy.  “You have news for us?”

Daisy nodded.  “The Doc and I do, yeah.”

They gathered in around the evidence boards, which were covered in photos, timelines and notes on evidence.  Daisy and Phil relaid what Daisy had found out from the bugs, and what Phil had theorized about Extremis.  By the time they finished, Nick was stone-faced and Jasper was cursing.  Phil could understand -- it was not good news, and had large implications for the greater vampiric world.  A world Nick was far more involved in than Phil these days, meaning Nick was no doubt going to be the one to deal with those implications.

“That’s all kind of fucked up,” Sam said in the following silence.  He shrugged when everyone turned to him.  “I’m just saying.”

“We need to inform the Council,” Melinda said grimly, her gaze flicking to Nick’s.

“They won’t be able to do much,” Nick said tiredly.  “Not until we find out who is behind this.”

“So, we find out who’s manufacturing Extremis,” Maria said, hands on her hips.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Clint told her dryly.

“Actually,” Daisy interrupted.  “I might be able to help with that?”

Jasper snorted.  “Finding out the who is important,” he said.  “But, right now, I’m more interested in the _why_.”

Nick glanced at him.  “Oh?”

“Yeah.”  Jasper rolled his shoulders, glancing around the assembled group.  “We’ve been operating under the assumption that a new drug cartel was dabbling in supernaturally influenced drugs, and that fits for the human victims, but not the vampires.  Anyone with supernatural knowledge would _know_ that mixing silver and vampires is a bad idea.”  Jasper raised both eyebrows.  “If you’re trying to corner a drug market, why the hell would you kill your customers?”

Nick’s gaze sharpened.  “So either the vampires are accidental victims of a new drug, or this is somehow deliberate,” he said.

“Except neither of those options makes sense,” Daisy said, frowning.  She stepped forward and grabbed one of the markers on one of the evidence boards before hesitating.  “Do we have a clean one of these?”

“Yeah, I’ll…” Maria said, pulling out a board and flipping it around for Daisy.

“Right, so,” Daisy said, uncapping the marker.  “What I’ve been _trying_ to tell you all is that I know who was in the meeting.  You know, the one talking about Extremis?”

She started scribbling names across the evidence board, and Phil blinked.  He _recognized_ those names, and he wasn’t the only one.

_Justin Hammer.  Aldrich Killian.  Obadiah Stane_.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Maria snapped.  “Are you telling me that three of the most powerful businessmen in America are now _dealing drugs_?”

“Not just them,” Phil said weakly, his eyes locked on another name.

_Alexander Pierce_.

“Phil?” Clint said, stepping closer to Phil to grip his elbow.

Phil lifted his eyes to Nick, catching all the fear and anger reflected in his old friend’s gaze.  His stomach rolling with nausea, Phil swallowed.  Politics among vampires wasn’t like human politics, even the kind of politics of Phil’s childhood where assassination was far more familiar.  Yet, even so, the fact that a _member of the Vampire Clan Council_ was involved in something that was resulting in the indiscriminate deaths of vampires was something Phil was having trouble wrapping his mind around.  It just didn’t seem possible.

“Pierce,” he said softly.  “Lord Pierce is a member of the Council.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve found the mole Lady Hand is searching for,” Nick said.

“But _why_?” Phil said, because that was the part he couldn’t understand.  “Why would a Councillor be involved in this?”

Daisy finished writing her list, tapping the last two names on her list -- Garrett and Ward.“I have no idea, but if _Ward_ is involved, it can’t be good,” she said.

Phil swallowed again as the room was filled with another series of muffled swearing.

“Okay, for those of us who are still new to the whole vampire thing,” Sam broke in.  “Can someone explain exactly what everyone is talking about?”

“And why exactly the name Garrett made most of you glance at Coulson,” Natasha added, her narrowed eyes fixed on Phil.

“That,” Nick said, “is not a short or simple explanation.”

Nevertheless, Nick attempted to give one.  Phil didn’t concentrate on what Nick said exactly, because he was already familiar with it and he didn’t want the reminder of how he should have killed Garrett many centuries ago.  That act of mercy had led to the death and pain of many people Phil cared about, and now it was leading to more.  Garrett had warped Ward just like he’d warped so many others, and Daisy had directly paid for that.  And if Garrett and Ward were doing the dirty work of a _Vampire Councillor_ , the effects would be unthinkable.

“Hey,” Clint said softly.  “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Phil answered honestly.

Clint nodded, quiet for a beat.  “Garrett,” he said finally.  “He’s your cousin, isn’t he?  The one who hired the vampire to kill your household and you?”

Phil swallowed.  He should really stop being surprised at Clint’s ability to put evidence together.  “Yes,” he whispered.  “He is.”

“ _Fuck_ , Phil,” Clint muttered, and his strong arms wrapped around Phil’s waist.  Phil gratefully slumped against him, a shudder going through his body.

“Yeah,” Phil said, pressing his face into the crook of Clint’s neck to he could breathe in the reassuring scent of Clint’s blood.

(Which was possibly creepy to a non-vampire, so Phil was going to make a note to never tell Clint about doing that.)

“So, basically, what you’re saying,” Sam said, his voice sharp enough to bring Phil’s attention back to the larger conversation.  “Is that we’ve stumbled across a conspiracy that not only involves three powerful millionaires, but also one of the most powerful vampires in the _world_ , and the two psychopathic vampires that do his dirty work?”

Maria nodded.  “Not to mention Rumlow and Rollins,” she added.

“Wait,” Clint growled, his whole body stiffening against Phil’s.  “Those two fuckers are involved in this?”

Maria glanced at him.  “I can’t say it with complete certainty, but I’m pretty sure both Rumlow and Rollins are Pierce’s _revenants_.”  At Sam’s aggravated look, she rolled her eyes.  “Loyal human servants, traditionally used to do things in the daytime when vampires can’t go outside.”

Sam frowned, his eyes flicking between Phil and Nick.  “But I thought the bursting into ash in sunlight thing wasn’t true?” he said.

“It’s not,” Melinda told him when Maria huffed in annoyance.  “But sunlight does weaken vampires, unless they’re very powerful or young enough not to notice.”  She slid her gaze towards Daisy.

Sam’s frown deepened.  “I’ve seen the Doc and Captain Fury in the daylight all the time.”

Melinda arched an eyebrow.  “You do,” she agreed.

Daisy turned to Phil, her eyes widening as the implication of Melinda’s words sank in.  “Shit, Doc,” she said.  “Just how old _are_ you?”

Phil rolled his eyes and huffed at Daisy’s teasing, but he didn’t miss the assessing looks Natasha and Sam sent him.  “So,” he said to Nick, attempting to get the conversation back on track.  “What do we do now?”

Nick sighed.  “We keep gathering information,” he said.  “There’s not much else we can do, not until we get a better idea of what’s going on and how far this goes.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes straying to the list of names.  “We can’t arrest Killian, Stane or Hammer without concrete evidence,” she said.  “And if Pierce is as dangerous as you say, we’re going to need a plan in place before going after him, too.”

“What about bringing in the A-team?” Sam suggested.

That could possibly work.  Humans as they were, the A-team was a group of highly skilled people trained for risky situations.  Phil resolved to talk it over with Clint later.

“We’d need the Council’s permission to brief them on vampires if we don’t want to send them in blind, and that might tip off Pierce,” Nick said.  “But it’s a plan worth keeping in reserve, in case we need it.”

Phil nodded as everyone fell into silence.  The information from Daisy’s bugs was hardly admissible in court, so they needed more evidence.  Perhaps they would not need it for Pierce, but part of living in the human world meant abiding by human laws.

“Christine Everhart!” Clint blurted.

Phil blinked at the non sequitur, but Clint’s eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.  He waved a hand, biting his lip.  “The case never entirely made sense,” Clint continued.  “Vanko felt too neat as a suspect, but that’s where the evidence led, so we followed it.”

“You think Vanko was framed?” Jasper asked.

“No,” Natasha said, shaking her head.  “Vanko _is_ guilty, but Clint and I always suspected he was getting orders from somewhere.”

“Pierce?” Maria suggested.

Natasha shook her head again.  “No.  We think it was Justin Hammer.”

“Well, fuck me,” Sam said.

“Hammer has links to Everhart -- they dated for a while,” Clint said.  “And Vanko also worked for Hammer’s company for a while.”

“All right,” Nick said.  “Keep looking into that.  We need to run down every piece of evidence we have.”  He turned to Maria.  “Hill, you and Wilson focus on Stane and Killian, while the rest of us worry about the vampires.  And be _careful_.  I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“You got it, Boss,” Maria replied dryly as everyone else nodded.

Phil nodded right along with them, but he couldn’t help the shiver that went down his spine, warning him that the other shoe was about to drop.

<*>

 


	13. Chapter 13

13.

The morgue was quiet, even for a Tuesday.  Or perhaps Phil was still on edge from the discussion at the taskforce offices three days ago.  Discovering the threads of a conspiracy felt like it should have led to a dramatic confrontation, but so far everything had remained distressingly normal.  Normal, at least, if Phil ignored the way Clint slept in his bed every night, curled protectively around Phil whenever Phil wasn’t working.  It was strange, getting used to someone sharing his space again, and for once in Phil’s eternal life, the night-shift wasn’t where he wanted to be.

Even so, Phil worried this was the calm before the storm.  Pierce and his partners were still out there, as were Garrett and Ward, and none of them would be silent for long.  They were building up to a grand plan, but so far not even Nick had managed to figure out what that grand plan was.  At least Clint and Natasha had tracked down a lead on Christine Everhart’s hidden notes -- the ones rumoured to contain evidence of a conspiracy.  Probably the same conspiracy they were investigating.

So that was something.

Phil glanced up at the knock on the office door and smiled.  Isabelle Hartley smiled back, lifting the tray of coffees aloft.  “Hey, Coulson,” she greeted.

“Well met, Isabelle,” Phil replied, pleased to see his old friend, even if he didn’t have Izzy’s talent for picking up modern vernacular.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Izzy shrugged.  “I figured we needed to talk,” she said.

She walked forward, taking one of the coffees from the tray and handing it to Phil before dropping into a chair opposite him.  “Besides,” Izzy added with a smirk.  “I bring a message from Lady Victoria.”

“Oh?” Phil asked, taking a drink of coffee.  It was _exactly_ the way he liked it.

Izzy’s smirk widened.  “Don’t panic,” she teased.

Phil scowled.  “I’m not.”

“Uh huh,” Izzy said skeptically.  She took a sip of coffee.  “I didn’t mention it before, but congratulations, by the way.”

Phil blinked.  He didn’t make any obvious movements, like reaching up to touch his new soul marks through his clothes, but Izzy arched an eyebrow at him anyway.  “How did you know?” Phil asked, because she’d smirked at him when Lady Hand had brought up soulbonds, too.

“When you know what to look for, new Bonds are kind of obvious,” Izzy said.  She sent Phil a reassuring smile.  “It’s little things: the lack of strain around your eyes, the hint of a smile.  At least, it is for vampires like us.”

“Vampires like us?” Phil echoed.

“Yeah,” Izzy replied.  “Those of us who longed for the Bond.”

Phil leaned back in his chair.  “I’ve only just started believing it’s _real_ ,” he said.

Izzy huffed.  “Just don’t start getting all sappy on me,” she said.  “Every Bond is unique, but if you ever have any questions, you’ve got my number.”

“Thanks, Izzy,” Phil said, gratefully.

Izzy shrugged, glancing down at her coffee cup.  “Well, your Sire is usually the one who’s supposed to explain all this, but…”

But Phil’s Sire didn’t stick around long enough to watch over Phil’s transition -- as unintended as it has been -- and resurrection, let alone anything else.  Phil was still trying to fill gaps in his knowledge.

“Besides,” Izzy said dryly.  “I think the Clan Council has dramatically underestimated how powerful you are, because you never act as they expect.”

Phil arched an eyebrow.  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“The power of a Bond directly relates to how powerful a vampire is,” Izzy replied, amusement threaded through her voice.  “And because you’re powerful enough to be a _Councillor_ if you wanted to be?”

“I…” Phil started.   _Was_ he?

Izzy waved his reponse away.  “Just something to think about,” she said.  “But in the meantime, Lady Victoria wanted me to ask you about Hydra.”

“Hydra?” Phil said, frowning.

He’d heard the odd rumour, of course.  No one who’d lived as long as Phil could avoid them.  The rumours cropped up every century or so, whispering of a secret brotherhood of vampires and their servants who wanted to return to a world where vampires ruled with impunity, and humans were merely food and chattel.  Never mind that world had never existed.  Phil hadn’t believed there was much truth in the rumours, at least beyond some sort of twisted vampire fantasy.

Izzy nodded.  “Unfortunately, there is a lot more truth to the rumours than most believe.”

“You mean Hydra actually exists?” Phil said.

“Yes.”  Izzy’s face turned grim.  “Lady Victoria and I have been trying to find the truth of Hydra for the last century.  So far, all we’ve managed to find out is that there are vampires who swear Hydra is real -- because they’ve fought Hydra agents.  Some of them, I’m even inclined to believe.”

“Is that why you and Lady Victoria are investigating a mole on the Clan Council?” Phil asked.

Izzy raised her eyebrows and nodded.  “It is,” she replied.  “If our suspicions are correct, then the mole inside the Council is one of the heads of Hydra.”

“Pierce,” Phil said, the pieces being to slot together.  And if _Pierce_ was Hydra, then Garrett and Ward were, too.  Not to mention the others involved with Extremis.  “ _Shit_.”

Izzy inclined her head.  “Indeed.”

“What…” Phil began, but the rest of the words froze in his throat as oily awareness shuddered down his spine.

_Vampires_.

Izzy went still, her eyes sharpening, so she’d felt it, too.  Phil stretched out his senses, drawing on his power, but there was no sound, and that was _not_ good.  Nodding once to Izzy, Phil reached under his desk to pull out a long, silver-runed knife.  Izzy quirked an eyebrow as he did, but considering how she’d drawn two knives of her own, she had to grounds for reproach.

Phil had no idea why vampires would attack the New York City Morgue, but right now, his priorities needed to be Jemma and Daisy.  Hopefully, they’d still be where they’d been gossiping over tea just outside Phil’s office.  He could contemplate the motivations of the attacking vampires later.

Using a series of old hand signals, Izzy suggested Phil go first to scout around.  It made sense.  Whoever was attacking would expect Phil to be there, but not a Clan Council bodyguard like Izzy.  Phil cracked the door open and peered out, but nothing seemed amiss.  “Daisy?” he called out softly.

Daisy was still perched on the corner of Jemma’s desk, but she was inhumanly still, her sharp gaze scanning the morgue.  Jemma was watching her with wide eyes, tea cup still clenched in her white-knuckled grip.  She glanced at Phil, blinking.  “Doctor Coulson?” she said.

Phil carefully brought a finger up to his lips, indicating for Jemma to be silent.  It wouldn’t help particularly -- the vampires that Phil could sense nearby would be able to sense him, too.  Even so, it was best not to make himself a target.

Jemma’s eyes strayed to Phil’s only partially hidden knife, her eyes widening even further.  Despite Daisy’s explanation about vampires, Jemma was still new to this world, but even she could tell something bad was happening.

Five seconds later, three large vampires crashed through the door, all armed with nasty, automatic weapons.  While not necessarily fatal to vampires, if Phil got hit by a burst of the presumably silver bullets, he wouldn’t be getting up for a while.  That was assuming the other vampires had come prepared for him, which was likely.  Sparing a glance towards a grimacing Izzy, Phil stretched out his vampire senses, and _moved_.

The world blurred around him at the burst of inhuman speed, but after so many years as a Hound honing his skills, Phil didn’t even blink.  He placed himself behind the attacking vampires, and before they could figure out where he was, Phil surged forwards.  He kicked out the knee of the first vampire, and then rammed his shoulder into the stomach of another.  The second vampire crashed into his third teammate, hopefully throwing off their aim before any of them pulled the trigger.  His speed seemed to have caught all three vampires by surprise, and spinning his knife around in a sharp arc, Phil smoothly decapitated the first vampire.  Phil glanced up, but Izzy had already dealt with the remaining two vampires and all three bodies sank to the floor.

The corpses withered before their eyes, proving the attacking vampires had been neither old nor powerful, and Phil wrinkled his nose at the decaying remains.  That would require clean-up, but thankfully, that was rather easy in a morgue.

A low, mocking laugh echoed around the morgue.  “You know, I didn’t believe Garrett when he told me, not after our previous meeting, but you _are_ better than I expected, Coulson.”

Phil swallowed back his anger, his fangs itching, and turned to face Grant Ward.  His eyes locked with Daisy’s wide, frightened ones instead, and Phil froze.  The blade Ward held at her neck was sharp enough that it had already cut her skin, but it was the unsettling gleam in Ward’s eyes that truly scared Phil.

“Perhaps things didn’t entirely go to plan, but I think I got what I wanted,” Ward said.

“You will not set one foot outside this building,” Izzy growled, her body still and every inch the hunter the last five centuries had honed her to be.

“Oh, really?” Wared said, smirking, but for an instant, his attention was focused on Izzy.

And _not_ on Daisy.

Having been trained by Melinda May, an instant was all Daisy needed.  She wrenched the knife away from her throat with a burst of vampiric strength, and twisted underneath Ward’s arm.  Ward whirled to meet her, but Daisy caught him with a vicious kick to the stomach.  The blow sent him flying backwards, which was impressive -- particularly considering Daisy’s young age.  She would truly be formidable by the end of her first century.

“Daisy,” Phil called while Ward flipped back to his feet, and tossed Daisy his silver-runed knife.

She snatched it out of the air with effortless grace, and turned to face Ward, even as Izzy advanced in a blur.  Ward glanced between the two women, taking several steps back to avoid Izzy’s strike.

“This isn’t over,” he threatened, and fled.

“Coward,” Daisy muttered.

Izzy and Daisy lowered their weapons as Ward’s oily presence faded away.  Phil glanced towards Daisy and caught Jemma’s frightened gze, her eyes wide and her face pale.

“Jemma,” Phil said, his voice as level as he could make it.

Jemma jolted, as if the sound of her name had broken through her shock.  “Oh my God,” she breathed.  “What was _that_?  Who were they?”  Her eyes widened further.  “They were _vampires_ , weren’t they?”

Phil shot a glance at Izzy.  He hadn’t exactly wanted to bring it up like this, but he could hardly deny Jemma didn’t know about vampires anymore.  Of course, Ward had forced their hand with his attack, anyway, even if these weren’t the best circumstances to tell a human about the existence of vampires.

“Jem?” Daisy said gently, crouching down in front of where Jemma was half underneath her desk.  “Are you okay?”  She glanced towards Phil when Jemma didn’t answer, and Phil nodded.  Jemma needed someone to stay with her, and Daisy was the best choice.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” Jemma said, swallowing.  “What exactly is going on?”

“Well, you know how I told you that I didn’t exactly ask to become a vampire?” Daisy said.  “That asshole is kind of the reason why I did.”

A flash of steel flickered through Jemma’s gaze.  “Is he?”

Daisy nodded.  “I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Giving Daisy a little space for her explanation, Phil and Izzy retreated to the other side of the room.  “The Clan Council needs to know about this,” Izzy said.  “Both the attack and Dr Simmons finding out about the existence of vampires.”

Phil raised both eyebrows.  “The Council?” he echoed.  “Won’t that just be telling Pierce everything that we know?”

“Not if we spin it right,” Izzy replied.  “Besides, with your reputation, it would be far stranger -- and more notable -- if you _didn’t_ report it.”

Phil frowned.  Izzy had a point, unfortunately.  The Clan Council had its own rules governing vampire society, and attacking other vampires and involving humans violated several of them.  Phil couldn’t just ignore that.

“Yes.  Of course,” he said.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Would it be better if I neglected to mention your presence?”

Izzy cocked her head to the side.  “Actually,” she said.  “I was thinking we should do the opposite.”

“Oh?” Phil said.  Where was Izzy going with this?

“Well, I was thinking we should actually try to minimize your role in the fighting, at least for now,” Izzy said.  “One of the problems with the Clan Council, like most older vampires, is that they believe _all_ powerful vampires act the same way.”

She raised an eyebrow, and Phil nodded.  “And I don’t.”

It was true that Phil was a very strange vampire.  Phil avoided a lot of his brethren and their petty, shallow politics, and he’d never looked down on humans simply for being what they were.  Even so, Phil hadn’t escaped notice as much as Izzy seemed to think he had.

“Izzy, I was _venator malorum_ for four centuries,” he said.  “The Clan Council, at the very least, will remember that.”

“Will they?” Izzy countered.  “Some Councillors may, but most prefer to forget what the Hounds do until their lives are threatened.  You know that.”

Phil did.  The frustration had been part of the reason he’d left the Hounds.  “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll follow your lead.”

Izzy inclined her head.  “Thank you, Phillip.”

Turning as Daisy approached, Phil had to quell the urge to pull her into a hug when he noticed her hunched shoulders.  “Not making plans without me, are you?” Daisy asked, but her attempt at humour didn’t reach her eyes.

“Just on how we’re going to inform the Clan Council on what happened here tonight,” Phil replied.

“Yeah, cool,” Daisy said.  “Let me know what I have to say.”

Phil nodded.  “How’s Jemma?”

Daisy glanced back at Jemma and Phil followed her gaze.  Jemma was still pale, but she looked less shocked than earlier and was cradling a fresh cup of tea.

“She needs time,” Daisy said quietly.  “The whole vampire thing is a lot to wrap your head around, even if she did hear about it before tonight.  But she’s tough.  She’ll be okay.”

Unable to help himself, Phil laid a comforting hand on Daisy’s shoulder.  “Is she still not talking to you?” he said quietly.

Daisy met Phil’s gaze, her brown eyes sad.  “I lied to her,” she said.  “I did that and I have to accept the consequences.”

Phil nodded, but he hoped Jemma wouldn’t take too much time to start speaking to Daisy again.  Daisy’s feelings definitely ran deeper than just friendship, and neither Daisy nor Jemma deserved more pain.  “I know what it feels like, but this doesn’t mean she’s rejecting you, Daisy,” he said.  “And if I can help, just ask.”

Daisy smiled sadly.  “Thanks, Coulson.”

<*>

The report to the Clan Council went about as well as Phil expected.  There was a lot of horrified gasping, a few comments on rogue behaviour and a promise to pass on the details to the _venator malorum_.  Izzy’s testimony helped, but Phil doubted anything much would be done.  He’d seen it before -- the Council asked the Hounds to investigate, weren’t actually convinced of the proof and the rogue lived long enough to offend again.

Sighing, Phil rolled his neck, trying to ease the tension in his muscles.  Dealing with vampire politics had _not_ been how he’d wanted to spend his night off.  Not that Phil would have been able to do what he wanted, anyway.  Clint was still following leads on Christine Everhart’s notes and Phil hadn’t seen him in three days.  The fact that Phil hadn’t heard from Ward or Garrett since the attack on the morgue worried him, too.  It wasn’t like Garrett not to press an advantage, and Ward didn’t seem like the most stable of people to Phil.  Nick had put a watch, both vampiric and police, on Daisy and Jemma’s apartments, so that might have scared Ward off, temporarily at least.

This was the part of being a Hound -- and a soldier -- that Phil had hated the most.  It wasn’t a case of figuring out who was behind Extremis anymore, or who Pierce and Garrett were working with, but building a case took _time_.  And Phil was beginning to wonder if time was something they didn’t have.  An itch had set in underneath his skin, warning him that danger was coming.

The sudden ringing of his phone broke through Phil’s thoughts, and he dug it out, resigned to whatever bad news the call was going to bring.  Except, the number wasn’t Nick’s -- it was Clint’s.  Phil smiled as he answered it.  “Clint… hi.”

“Hello, Phil.”

An icy chill ran down Phil’s spine at the smug, slimy tone.  “Garrett,” he growled, suddenly full of boiling, blistering rage.

“Now that I have your attention,” Garrett said.  “I have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Phil took a calming breath.  He couldn’t give in to his anger -- Garrett might be twisted by his hatred of Phil, but he was also smart.  Garrett attempted to get his revenge against Phil every century or so -- usually at the expense of the humans around Phil -- but that was only a small part of Garrett’s grand plans.  He’d always blamed Phil for denying him the Duchy when they’d both been human, and Hydra was probably just another way for Garrett to build his own fiefdom like he craved.  Phil doubted he was truly converted to Hydra’s ideology -- but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

“Oh?  Is there?” Phil said as levelly as he could manage.

Garrett chuckled.  “There he is, the royal bastard of a Duke.  Still letting humans pay for his mistakes.  You know, I _almost_ missed that tone, Phillip.”

Phil wasn’t going to play any of Garrett’s games.  Not this time.  “What is it that you want?” he asked bluntly.

“I want you to lose everything you love,” Garrett said, and the simple declaration made Phil swallow, his heart clenching.  “But, unfortunately, this isn’t about what _I_ want.  My… let’s call them my employers, want you neutralized.  They’ve left the _how_ up to my discretion.”

The steel bands around Phil’s heart tightened.  If Garrett had Clint, the consequences were unthinkable.  “I want proof that you have Clint and not just his phone before I agree to your terms,” Phil said.

There was a brief silence before Clint’s loud, pained scream echoed over the phone.  Phil closed his eyes, his heart freezing in his chest as every cell in his body rebelled at what was happening.   _No, no, no_.  It couldn’t be true.

“How’s that for proof, Phil?” Garrett drawled.  “Now, what are you willing to give to keep your boy here safe?”

“ _Anything_ ,” Phil rasped, because it was the truth and Garrett knew it.

“Aww, Phil, you say the sweetest things,” Garrett replied.  “Now listen closely.”

<*>

Phil somehow ended up at Nick’s taskforce HQ.  The journey had passed in a daze, Garrett’s words on a repetitive, sickening loop in his head.  This was all Phil’s fault, and he _hated_ how Clint was paying for the mistake Phil had made centuries ago.  God, the _man he loved_ was in pain and at the mercy of John Garrett.  Phil would fall to his knees and beg forgiveness as soon as he had rescued Clint from Garrett’s clutches.

“Phil?”

Glancing up at Nick’s voice and familiar presence, Phil clenched his fists at his side as all the pain and anger swelled up in his throat.  “Nick,” he said.  “I need…”

“What happened?” Nick asked, his entire body tensing at whatever Phil’s face was showing.

“He has Clint,” Phil whispered.  “Oh, God, Garrett has _Clint_.”

Nick closed his eye and cursed.  “Come inside, Phil,” he said, reaching out to steady Phil by his elbow.  “There’s something you need to hear.”

Phil nodded and Nick escorted him upstairs.  Melinda and Jasper were waiting for them, both their faces grim and tense, Daisy hovering beside them.  Her brown eyes widened when she saw Phil, and under any other circumstances Phil might have worried at the emotions people were reading off him, but right now all he cared about was getting Clint back.  Maria and Sam were standing around a desk at the back of the room, Natasha sitting in a chair between them, an ice pack held gently against her head.

“Phil,” she said, trying to rise to her feet at Phil’s entrance, her gaze locking with Phil’s.  “Clint, he’s…”

“I know.”  Phil couldn’t quite find it within himself to reassure her, but he nodded.  “Garrett has Clint.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said, her voice hoarse.  “We were attacked by several vampires.  I had no silver or stakes.  I couldn’t stop them.  When they knocked me into the wall, I pretended to be unconscious…”

“It’s okay, Natasha,” Phil said, his stomach twisting at her guilty distress.  From her pale face and the bruises blooming across her throat and jaw, she’d put up a hell of a fight anyway.  “You couldn’t have stopped them, and they would have killed you if you’d tried.”

“So what are we going to do?” Daisy demanded.  “We can’t let him get away with this!”

Melinda arched her eyebrows at Daisy.  “We’re not.”

That seemed to mollify Daisy a little.  “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“Garrett gave me an address,” Phil said.  “He wants me to be there at dawn, alone and unarmed, or he kills Clint.”

“And what?” Sam said.  “You’re just going to _go_?”

Maria scowled.  “I’m coming with you.”

Phil shook his head.  “I appreciate the thought, but you can’t,” he said.  Maria looked fit to argue, but Phil pressed on.  “It’s a distraction.  Garrett wants us to come after him, so that those he’s working for can move their operations.”

Nick smiled without a trace of humour.  “I suspected as much,” he agreed.  “I got word from my surveillance team.  There’s a lot of movement at one of the sites we suspected was an Extremis lab.  I think they’re packing up.”

“We need to make our move,” Jasper said.  He shot a glance at Phil.  “Phil…”

“I understand,” Phil said, cutting him off.  Nick couldn’t afford to divide his resources and send half his team with Phil against Garrett, even with Clint’s life at stake.  Hydra and Extremis had to be the priority.  “It’s okay.  This is my mistake to fix.”

“What are you going to do, Phil?” Nick asked softly.

“I’m going to finish what I started,” Phil snapped, only that wasn’t entirely true.  He sucked in a sharp breath, and for the first time in centuries, put aside the compassion of the doctor and gave into his instincts.  “No.  I’m going to do what I should have done centuries ago.  I’m going to make sure Garrett and his cronies never hurt anyone ever again.”  He glanced up and met Nick’s stead stare.  “I’m going hunting.”

<*>

 


	14. Chapter 14

14.

Phil vaulted over the shoulder-high fence with ease, moving like a shadow in the pre-dawn light.  The old, derelict apartment block rose above him like a gothic shadow, dark and silent.  His boots didn’t make a sound as he crossed the lawn of the small garden with a burst of vampiric speed, and Phil’s eyes constantly roved the shadows for movement.  Not that it mattered much -- the vampires inside would sense him soon enough.

It was still an hour or so before Garrett’s suggested meeting, but Phil wasn’t waiting any longer.  He certainly wasn’t going to just play along with Garrett’s demands either, which left Phil with only a few options.  And as risky as it was, he was going to show Garrett why he had been such a good _venator malorum_ for so many centuries -- right before he made sure Garrett would never hurt anyone again.

In the end, Melinda had volunteered to come with him, as had Daisy.  Nick was worried about leaving Phil to do this on his own, but he was needed to lead the raid on the Extremis lab.  Stopping Hydra’s plans was more important than Garrett’s vendetta, for both the _venator malorum_ and Nick’s police taskforce.  Besides, Phil could handle it.  There was no other option.

Daisy reached the back door the building a few seconds behind Phil, Melinda watchfully bringing up the rear.  Like Phil, both women were dressed in black, with Daisy wearing jeans, boots and a hoodie pulled up over her head.  Melinda was more obviously armed, dressed in a leather jerkin over a black shirt and a familiar set of black leather gauntlets covering her forearms.

“The security system is down,” Daisy said quietly, shutting the fuse box.

Phil nodded, but stayed where he was.  Sucking in a deep breath, Daisy shifted so she was in front of the door and raised a hand.  Her brown eyes glowed violet as she drew on the magic she had inherited from her mother, the faint trace of ozone hovering in the air.  A soft violet glow spread out from Daisy’s outstretched hand and slammed into the door without a sound.  The door glowed slightly before fading.  “Not much in the way of wards on the door,” Daisy said.

Melinda snorted.  “Idiot.”

“Garrett surrounds himself with vampire soldiers,” Phil said.  “He’s probably counting on them to stop anything coming for him.  And Ward’s probably in there, too.”

“Shall we show him the error of his ways?” Melinda said, drawing a slim silver-runed sword.

“I like that plan,” Daisy agreed.

Phil nodded shortly.  “Let’s move.”

Phil’s gums itched  and he gave into the thrum of his instincts, letting his fangs slide free.  He sank into the corner of his mind where everything was heightened -- the ripples of the breeze brushing against his skin, the jangling, jarring clash of so many vampirics presences in one place.  Sucking in a deep breath, Phil tasted the faint echo of blood on his tongue, overlain with fear and panic.  Humans had been killed here -- _fed_ on -- their last moments filled with horror.

Leading the way through the now open door, Phil kept his movements efficient and precise as he drew his gun.  It was filled with silver nitrate bullets, which would slow down any vampires they came across, and Phil also had a silver-runed sword strapped to his back and a long knife sheathed at the small of his back.

Since the innate ability of vampires to recognize their own kind would give them away, Phil didn’t bother trying to stay quiet.  Instead, he used bursts of speed to take the vampires within the building by surprise, and trusted both Melinda and Daisy to watch his back.  He might not have been a Hound when modern guns were in use, but he’d worked with the police for long enough that his aim was sharp.

Shouts sounded along their path as the vampires that chose not to fight fled in fear.  Phil let them go, because Clint was more important than a few vampire thugs.  He _needed_ to find Clint.   _Now_.  Every second left in Garrett’s hands was a second too long.

Reaching the fourth floor of the building, Phil paused.  The bodies of hunted humans, probably the ones Phil had sensed earlier, still lay where they’d fallen, the pale skin and torn throats proof they’d been fed on.  Phil swallowed down another surge of rage.  Yet more destruction that Garrett would pay for, because no one deserved to be prey.

“Phil?” Melinda said.

“We need to split up to clear the next three floors,” Phil said, the feeling of time slipping away from him getting more urgent.  “I’ll head for the top.”

If Garrett was anywhere, that’s where he would be.

“Just be careful,” Daisy said softly.

Phil glanced at her, but he wasn’t willing to make any promises.  Right now the twisting fear knotted in Phil’s stomach was telling him that giving his life to save Clint’s was an adequate sacrifice.  Nothing mattered other than making sure Clint was alive and safe.

Using every scrap of vampiric speed he possessed, Phil sprinted up the stairs, bypassing the next two floors.  The jangling presence of vampires got stronger as he did, but Phil was itching for a fight.  He kicked open the door at the top of the stairs with a splintering crash, surprising the four vampires lying in wait for him.  Phil shot three of them before he ran out of bullets, sending two slumping to the floor and one staggering.  Not bothering to replace the clip, Phil re-holstered his gun on his thigh and whirled out of the way of a hasty sword strike, drawing his own blade as he spun.

These rogues were older than the ones downstairs -- old enough to have been born when swords were still the weapon of choice, not guns.  Even so, they were no match for Phil.  Phil had spent most of his life with a sword in his hand, and he’d spent his immortal life as a Hound, training with the best swordsmen and martial artists of the ages.

Feigning to the left, Phil reversed the direction of his blade and using his inhuman strength, cleaved one rogue’s head from his shoulders.  Pivoting on his foot, Phil swung his sword down and around, gutting a second rogue as a third came at him from behind.  Phil lashed out with a kick, sending the third rogue flying into a wall, and threw himself forward, narrowly missing a sword strike to the face.  The silver nitrate in his bullets had barely slowed these rogues down _at all_ and the glowing red veins growing brighter underneath their skin suggested a chilling reason why.

Rising back to his feet, Phil blocked a series of sharp strikes to his head and chest, the clash of steel on steel echoing dully around them.  Spotting a gap in the rogue’s guard, Phil deflected another strike, turning his shoulder to lessen the force of it, and drew the knife at the small of his back.  The rogue was good, but Phil was stronger and faster.  He stabbed the knife into the rogue’s heart before he could recover, and while the rogue’s eyes went wide in surprise, Phil beheaded him.  Turning, Phil repeated the same to the remaining rogue, who had only just staggered to his feet, his stomach wound still healing.

Phil straightened, re-sheathing the knife at his back, but he didn’t lower his guard.  Thankfully, whatever effect Extremis had on the rogues had ceased with death, the glowing lines fading as the corpses withered.

Phil stretched out his senses, looking for Garrett’s oily presence.   _There_.  Last apartment down the corridor.  Gathering his strength, Phil smashed open the door with a hard kick, and burst into the room beyond.  He beheaded both the vampires guarding the door before they could react.  The apartment itself had once been richly decorated with thick carpets and intricate wallpaper.  It was shabby now, but the living room at the end of the hall still contained the remains of heavy wooden furniture.

The scent of blood hit Phil first, sweetly familiar, before he caught sight of Clint.  He was shirtless, his chest covered with bruises and still-bleeding cuts, and was strapped to a large, antique chair.  Garrett was behind him, the apartment’s large windows at his back, and his fist in Clint’s hair, pulling his head back to reveal the knife held at Clint’s throat.

“Uh uh,” Garrett warned.  “Not another inch closer.”

Phil tightened his grip on his sword, but stayed where he was.  He glanced around, but they appeared to be alone in the apartment.

“You know, Phil, I’m actually impressed,” Garrett said.  “I didn’t think you’d reach me this quickly, even without your friends.”

“Where’s Ward?” Phil asked.

Garrett smirked.  “Oh, he’s gone to find Daisy,” he said.  “They’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t you think?”

Phil’s stomach clenched, but he didn’t shift his focus away from Garrett.  Daisy could take care of herself.

“Ooh, not even a flicker of emotion.  Phil I thought you _loved_ your little ducklings,” Garrett said.  He yanked Clint’s head back even further.  “Or maybe it’s just _this_ one you’re so worried about, huh?”

Unable to stop himself, Phil dropped his gaze to Clint’s.  Instead of looking scared, however, Clint’s eyes were quietly furious.  He stared back at Phil and cocked his eyebrow a fraction, as if asking Phil what he was doing about the psychopath and if Clint could punch him in  the face several times, please.  It was strangely comforting.

“Garrett…” Phil began, glancing up again.

“Okay,” Garrett said, suddenly taking the knife away from Clint’s throat and holding both hands out to his sides.  “How about we make a wager?”

Whatever wager Garrett was offering was lost when Clint took advantage of Garrett’s distraction.  Slipping his hand free of the ropes, Clint surged to his feet and twisted, punching Garrett right in his smug, smirking face.  The blow made Garrett stagger back, and even with surprise on his side, that should not have been possible for a human.

Garrett narrowed his eyes in response, and before Phil could shout a warning or move, Clint was stumbling backwards, Garrett’s knife suddenly protruding from his abdomen.  The bright, sharp scent of Clint’s blood filled the air, his eyes dark with pain and fear even as his hands came up to press against the wound.

“ _Clint_.”

The word was torn from Phil’s throat, almost unrecognisable, and Phil moved without thinking, his hands catching Clint as he sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  Phil had dropped his sword in his haste, his thoughts only focused on Clint and the warm, rich blood seeping out from between his fingers.  The smell of it surrounded Phil, saturated with so many colliding emotions, lodging in Phil’s throat and choking his lungs.

“We’ll continue this later, shall we, Phillip?” Garrett sneered, and then he was gone.

Distantly, Phil was aware that he should be gripped by anger that his quarry had escaped, but it seemed unimportant.  The only thing that mattered was Clint.

“So that… worked out better in my head,” Clint gasped roughly, pain flickering over his face.

“Don’t talk,” Phil replied, his hands still pressed to Clint’s stomach.  All Phil’s medical training had deserted him.  There was so much _blood_.

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmured.

“No, _don’t_ ,” Phil whispered desperately.  “Don’t apologize.  It’s not your fault.”

If it was anyone’s fault, it was _Phil’s_ \-- Phil’s for not stopping Garrett, for dragging Clint into this mess.  He swallowed.  He’d never felt so helpless in his entire existence.  “Just hold on.   _Please_.  I can’t lose you.”

“Phil!   _Phil_.”  Melinda appeared by Phil’s side, her face tight with worry.  Phil didn’t even wonder how she’d gotten there -- he just clung to the hope that she could help.  “You need to listen to me very carefully,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.  “Focus on your Bond with Clint.  Reach for it and _feel_ it.”

Phil could only do as Melinda instructed and trust that Melinda knew what she was doing.  He closed his eyes, stretching out his mind for the Bond that linked him to Clint, but he had no idea what he was searching for.

“Think about _Clint_ , Phil.”

Clint.  Phil’s heart clenched.  The warm, wonderful and _brave_ man that Phil wanted to spend his eternity with was _dying_ and Phil was going to lose the strong arms that held him at night and the terrible jokes and the way Clint always stole the last of the coffee and Phil _wasn’t ready to lose him_.  He’d _never_ be ready to lose Clint.

Phil gasped, his mind suddenly flooding with bright, fiery heat.  Clint’s precious heartbeat thundered in Phil’s ears, wonderful, indisputable proof of _life_ , and despite _everything_ , a sweet contentment overwhelmed Phil, spiralling out from his chest.

“Good,” Melinda said quietly.  “Now imagine Clint’s wounds healing like yours do, and _push_.”

The command should have made little sense, but somehow Phil could see exactly what she meant.  Phil pictured Clint’s tissue and blood vessels knitting back together, the skin closing until there was barely a scar.  He held onto the image with everything that he was and slowly _pushed_ the sensation into the warm, solid brightness that was his link to Clint.  When Phil finally blinked open his eyes, it was like surfacing from underwater.  He slumped forwards, only Melinda’s strong arms keeping him somewhat upright.

“You did it,” Daisy said with a wide grin.

Phil blinked again, because when had Daisy gotten there?

His gaze dropped down to Clint and everything else ceased to matter.  The knife in Clint’s stomach had vanished, as had the wound, with only a few smears of drying blood left behind.  Phil swallowed heavily, his eyes burning.  It had _worked_.  “Clint,” he breathed.

“Hi,” Clint said, smiling up at Phil.

“Careful,” Melinda said as Phil shifted back enough to left Clint sit up.  “You both need to rest.”

Phil glanced at her, filled with a wave of gratitude that he had no words to express.  “Melinda,” he said.  “I… How…?”

Melinda smiled, soft and warm.  “A soulbond is a truly wonderful thing,” she said.  “But I should warn you: even among those who are Bonded, what we just did is very dangerous.”

Phil still wasn’t sure exactly what they _had_ done, but he believed Melinda.  With a sudden moment of clarity, he realized that she’d done this for Nick or Jasper.  Or maybe both of them.  The life of a Hound was not easy.

“Then… why?” Clint said, slumping sideways against Phil’s shoulder.  Phil curled an arm protectively around Clint’s waist.

“Because there was still a chance.  Because Phil is stronger than he likes to appear,” Melinda said, shrugging slightly, as if saying they could pick whichever of her reasons that they liked.  “Because I don’t like watching people die.”

“ _Thank you_ , Melinda,” Phil told her.

Melinda rested a hand on Phil’s free shoulder.  “Always, brother.”

Phil closed his eyes, taking comfort in Melinda’s quiet support and the steady thump of Clint’s heartbeat.  Yet, as much as Phil wanted to take Clint back to his apartment and keep him there for a few days, they had other things to worry about.

“Did you find Ward?” he asked Daisy.

Daisy quirked a smile, her eyes flicking between Phil and Clint, before she sobered.  “Yes,” she replied, “but the coward fled before May and I finished kicking the asses of his goon squad.”

“Garrett escaped, too,” Phil said.

Clint squeezed his hand wordlessly and Phil was grateful for the small support, even as he burned with frustration at Garrett getting away _again_.

“Well, at least we know where they’re both going,” Melinda muttered.

Phil glanced first at Daisy, meeting her equally startled gaze, and then at Melinda.  Could it be that simple?  Where they really heading for their Hydra masters?

With a huff, Melinda rolled her eyes.  “What are you both waiting for?” she said.  “I’ll watch over Barton.”

Tightening his arm around Clint, Phil hesitated, torn.  He needed to finish things with Garrett, but no matter how much he trusted Melinda, he was loathe to leave Clint so soon after almost losing him.

“Go get the bastard, Phil,” Clint said, a trace of a smirk curling his lips.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Phil let out a breath.  “Okay.”

<*>

It actually _hurt_ to tear himself away from Clint, but Phil had endured painful things before with less of a reason for doing them.  The kiss Clint had pressed to his lips as he’d left had helped, too.

Phil and Daisy barely made it two blocks from the apartment building before an oily, shuddering and unmistakable presence slid down his spine and sparked across his nerves.  He froze, immediately searching the shadows of the alley.  With dawn starting to light the sky, Phil had expected Garrett to flee back to a bolthole or his masters at the Extremis lab, but Garrett surprised him.  Or maybe Garrett’s bitter hatred had just spilled over, fed by the mad possessiveness of his latest protégé.

“Come out and face me, Garrett,” he called.  “I know you’re here.”

Behind him, Daisy was uncharacteristically silent as she watched his back, but the faint rasp gave away that she’d drawn her knife.

“You know, Phil, I’m actually impressed,” Garrett said, stepping out from behind a dumpster.  “I expected you to be weeping over the body of your mortal for days yet.”

Phil blinked.  Garrett didn’t _know_.  Not that Clint had survived, or that Clint was Phil’s Bonded.  The thought catalyzed something within Phil, setting it alight, even as the first rays of sun started sapping his strength.  He arched an eyebrow at Garrett.  “Well, you’ve _never_ impressed me.  You always were… disappointing.”

Garrett snarled, rage lighting his eyes.

“Although, I suppose killing you will make it easier to kill Ward,” Phil continued, drawing his sword.  “He’s not very good, is he?”

The last words hadn’t been intended for Garrett, because Ward was still hovering in the shadows.  Perhaps he thought Garrett’s presence would mask his.

Garrett surged forward, inhumanly fast, and Phil was forced to concentrate on him.  Daisy would have to deal with Ward on her own.  Phil blocked Garrett’s first strike, the heavy blow reverberating down his arm.  Garrett was putting all his vampiric strength behind the hits, as well as all of his skill.  He’d learned much since he and Phil had last fought, but then, so had Phil.  Blocking the next two strikes, Phil tried to protect himself from the worst of the force.  He stepped into the next strike, meeting Garrett’s sword with his own before Garrett could put his shoulder behind it.

Snarling, Garrett pivoted and surged forwards, slamming Phil into the wall of the alleyway.  If Phil had been mortal, his breath would have been driven from his lungs, but instead, it was just pain that jolted through Phil.  He narrowed his eyes and ducked under Garrett’s attempt at a punch, but his foot slipped as he stood in something slimy.  Garrett must have seen it, because he lashed out with a vicious kick to the back of Phil’s knee, sending him sprawling.

Phil rolled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough.  Fire erupted as Garrett’s blade sliced through the skin along Phil’s shoulder and sword arm, and Phil grunted, the scent of his own blood heavy on his tongue.  He tightened his grip on the sword hilt and spun away from Garrett’s next charge.  Dodging to the right, Phil missed the heavy overhead blow, and kicked out sharply at Garrett’s wrist.  The bones broke with a sickening crunch, and Garrett dropped his weapon with a curse.  Taking the opportunity, Phil swung his sword towards Garrett, the blade slicing through his unprotected neck.  It wasn’t enough to kill him, but Garrett sagged to his knees in the alley, one hand reaching up to stem the flow of blood at his throat.

Phil swallowed, the metallic scent of blood hanging thickly in the air, and refused to give in to the animalistic part of himself that was crowing at the sight of his enemy bleeding on his knees.  For an instant, Phil was transported to a smoky battlefield, gunpower sharp in the air and the pounding of cannonfire all around him.  Their positions had been reversed that day, with Phil kneeling in the mud before Garrett.  It had been luck more than skill that had helped Phil avoid a killing blow -- the luck of a friend and fellow soldier, and Garrett’s flash of hesitation.

Phil couldn’t hesitate now, nor would he gloat.  Garrett lunged for his sword, but Phil was already swinging, his aim correcting as Garrett twisted, and just like that, it was done.  Phil felt the bite of the blade as it hit bone, sliding between vertebrae, but the sensation seemed somehow indistinct.  After centuries of pain and watching over his shoulder, Garrett’s torment was over.  He was _dead_ and he wasn’t coming back.

It didn’t feel like release, not in the way Phil had expected.  It was just an end.

“Phil?” Daisy said quietly.

Phil turned, immediately studying Daisy for injuries.  There were a few spots of blood on her clothes, sharp and acrid, but the blood wasn’t hers.  “What happened to Ward?” he asked, although he had a good idea already.

Daisy’s grin was fierce.  Phil was almost sorry he’d missed witnessing her fight.  “I cut his head off, just like May taught me,” she said.

“Good,” Phil replied, relief flickering through him.  “We should probably call this in.”

Daisy frowned, her eyes concerned.  “Are you okay, Doc?”

“I don’t know,” Phil answered honestly.  “But at least Garrett won’t hurt anyone else.”

Daisy pressed close.  “Yeah,” she agreed.

<*>

When Phil called Izzy, she promised to send a team to deal with Garrett and Ward’s remains before someone notified the police, but otherwise let him go.  Phil would have questions to answer -- as would Daisy -- but Phil suspected that their fight would be overshadowed by Nick’s actions against Hydra.  Vampires would be feeling the echoes of _that_ for years.

(It wasn’t everyday that a whispered conspiracy became _real_ and was defeated, all at once.)

Phil and Daisy arrived at the Extremis lab after it was all over.  A few policemen were bustling about, but the area was already cordoned off, and techs were busy taking photographs of half-loaded trucks.  There was no sign of Nick, or his strike team, but Phil could feel the presence of vampires nearby.  He blinked, scanning the scene, even as one of the uniformed officers waved Phil and Daisy under the tape.   _There_.  Just outside the main building, talking to Trip.  Was that _Clint_?

Melinda was standing next to them, also seeming no worse for wear, and certainly not like either she or Clint had faced down rogue vampires earlier that evening.  Melinda had always been stoic, but Clint showed a mastery of hiding his physical discomfort that Phil hadn’t entirely expected.

“Hey, Doc,” Trip greeted with a smile as Phil and Daisy approached.  “You missed a hell of a night.”

Phil arched his eyebrow, even as he squashed down a sudden jolt of fear.  “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed with a smirk.  “Captain Fury and his taskforce took down the major players in a conspiracy _and_ a significant drug ring tonight.”

Looking closer, Clint was clearly exhausted.  He was sagging despite his best efforts, but his shoulders were relatively free of tension, so Phil relaxed.  Nothing terrible had gone wrong, then.  “Very impressive,” he said.  “I’ll have to give Captain Fury my congratulations.”

Trip nodded.  “He’s just finishing up inside with his detectives,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the lab’s interior.

Phil would have to ask for details later.  Right now, all he wanted to do was drag Clint back to his apartment and sleep.  Unfortunately, it seemed as if the world did not want to let him.  Phil glanced over at a sudden commotion near the cordon, and he cursed.  Felix Blake, Steward to the Vampire Clan Council was gesturing angrily, clearly outraged at having his progress impeded.

“I suppose…” Trip began.

Melinda laid a hand on his arm.  “Allow me.”

She glanced at Phil and Phil nodded, following her when she walked over to greet Blake.  Melinda nodded to the uniformed officer that had tried to stop Blake’s entrance, and waited until the officer retreated.  “Lord Blake,” Melinda said.  “To what do we owe this honour?”

“You can skip the pleasantries, _malorum_ ,” Blake said, his face twisted up like he’d tasted something unpleasant.  “I was dispatched by the Clan Council upon the news of Lord Gonzales’ death.”  He frowned.  “Imagine my surprise when I learned of your _unauthorized_ missions against Lord Garrett and his student.  As well as this mess with Lord Pierce.”

Melinda shrugged.  “It was _malorum_ business.”

“Was it?” Blake said, voice thick with skepticism.

“Yes,” Melinda said flatly.  “And as the Clan Council has previously decreed, the _vantor malorum_ are given leave to pursue the safety of the Council and its allies at their discretion.”

Blake’s frown deepened.  “That does not explain why you involved _others_ ,” he sneered, glancing towards Phil.

Melinda’s eyes went flinty.  “Coulson is still a high-ranked _malorum_ , despite his recent leave of absence, and Daisy Johnson is one of our new recruits.  I have been training her personally.”

“I am?” Daisy said, gaping.  Phil glanced at her in surprise.  She was getting very good at sneaking, because Phil hadn’t heard her approach.

Melinda frowned.  It was the frown of a woman quickly losing her patience with the idiocy surrounding her.  “ _Yes_.  Of course,” she said.

“Be that as it may,” Blake said.  “I expect to read a _full_ report of tonight’s… events.”

“You will,” Melinda replied, tilting her head to the side.  “I will see to it that _Lord_ Fury delivers it personally.”

Phil bit back the urge to smile.  He wasn’t sure if Melinda was more angry with Blake or Nick, but either way, she effectively cut off any argument Blake was going to make.  With a huff, he said his goodbyes and retreated.

“So… are we in trouble?” Daisy asked in the following silence.

Melinda shot her a sidelong glance.  “No.”  She turned to Phil.  “But you need sleep.  I’ll find Barton and you both need to go home.  Nick, Jasper and I will handle the rest.”

Phil swallowed.  “Thank you, Melinda.”

<*>

 


	15. Chapter 15

Epilogue.

Phil stretched as he woke, warm and content.  The feeling was still new enough that Phil struggled not to indulge in it and attempt to lure Clint into spending the entire day with him in bed.  Again.

(He was thankful Nick had organized a whole week’s vacation for both him and Clint, and not just because of Clint’s recent near-death experience.)

Rolling over, Phil came face to eye with the golden pile of fur that was Clint’s dog, Lucky.  Although it was probably more accurate to call Clint Lucky’s human, because in the three days since Lucky had come to live in Phil’s apartment, Phil had never met a dog more prone to herding his human to bed when it got late.  Lucky cracked open his lone eye and huffed, sprawled quite contendly across Clint’s half of the bed.  Fortunately, Clint was not currently occupying it.

Or maybe that was _un_ fortunately, because Phil enjoyed waking up to Clint’s bedhead and narrow-eyed disgruntlement at the sun.

“Good morning, Lucky,” Phil said, reaching out to scratch behind Lucky’s ear.  “I don’t suppose you know where Clint is, do you?”

Lucky gave a loud doggy sigh and licked Phil’s wrist before going back to sleep.  Phil smiled, because the mutt was cute, if decidedly less than helpful.

Clint’s footsteps padded towards the bedroom and Phil smiled as Clint appeared in the doorway, two mugs of coffee balanced in one hand and his phone in the other.  With Clint busy frowning at the phone’s screen, Phil let his gaze wander down Clint’s naked chest to the jeans riding low on his hips.  He really was an attractive sight.

“Is everything okay?” Phil asked when Clint’s scowl only deepened.

“Huh?” Clint said, glancing up and blinking.  He smiled when he saw that Phil was awake.  “Morning, Phil.”

He put his phone down on the bedside table, ignoring it as it buzzed twice more, and sat down on the bed so he could pass Phil one of the mugs of coffee.  Phil pushed himself upright before he took it, wedging a pillow behind his back so he could lounge comfortably.  “Mm, thanks,” he said.

Clint chuckled, sipping from his own mug, and glanced down at Lucky.  “Are you gonna move over, dog?” he said.

Lucky didn’t even bother opening his eye in response.  Clint huffed.  “Guess not,” he muttered.  “I should really take Steve up on his offer to take Lucky out running again.”

Phil laughed.  He couldn’t help it.  Somehow in the last three months, he’d acquired himself a boyfriend, a dog and a whole set of new friends to trade sarcastic quips with.  Clint had bashfully introduced Phil to the A-team after Steve, Bucky and Sharon had dropped Lucky off on the second day of their vacation, and from there it had spiralled.  Not that Phil minded the way Clint was opening up his life for Phil to share.

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “You’re being sappy again, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Phil replied, hiding another smile by drinking his coffee.

Clint groaned theatrically.  “Phil, stop it,” he said, but he still got up and rounded the bed so he could climb up and straddle Phil’s lap, so that was a mixed message.  “We both know I’m the one who makes bad jokes and puns in this relationship.”

Phil slid his free hand around Clint’s waist just as Clint’s phone buzzed another three times in quick succession.  Phil glanced over at it, resigning himself for Clint needing to leave.  “Do you need to get that?” he asked.

“Nah, it’s just Natasha,” Clint replied, settling down more comfortably to drink his coffee.  “She’s bored.”

After the taskforce had taken down Hydra, Nick had wasted no time in assigning Natasha to a new case with Maria and Sam, and Phil wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not that Natasha was bored.

“Seriously, Phil, she’s fine,” Clint said, leaning in to put his empty cup down on the bedside table.

“Okay,” Phil agreed, willing to take Clint’s word on it.  Clint, after all, knew Natasha better than he did.

Rolling his eyes, Clint tugged the coffee mug out of Phil’s hands and deposited it beside his, and leaned in for a long, slow kiss.  Phil sank into it, sliding the palm of his now free hand up Clint’s back to tangle in his hair.  Clint pulled away before Phil was ready to let him go, but Clint only chuckled and nipped at Phil’s jaw.

“So, are you going to have to face the Old Guys again today?” he asked, and really, the way his lips brushed Clint’s skin when he said that was blatantly _unfair_.

“No, I do not need to go and see the _Old Guys_ ,” Phil replied, using Clint’s ridiculous nickname for the Vampire Clan Council.

If nothing else, his and Clint’s week long vacation had given Phil enough time to help Nick with the inevitable shitstorm that had resulted from Hydra and Lord Pierce’s plans.  The Vampire Clan Council had _not_ been happy, but Nick had gone in prepared and Izzy and Lady Victoria had helped as much as they could.  Phil was just happy he hadn’t been forced to fly to Europe for his testimony.  Lord Pierce himself was dead, beheaded by Nick when he’d tried to kill Natasha, which was a relief.  They were still untangling a lot of his influence, but thankfully, Justin Hammer, Aldrich Killian and Obadiah Stane were all behind bars awaiting trial.

It turned out that all three men had been seduced into helping Pierce with promises of even more power and eventually being turning into vampires, which was more than a little creepy and horrifying.  Not that Phil believed Pierce would ever have made good on his promises.  He would have been more likely to turn Stane, Killian and Hammer into his thralls.  Rumlow and his partner, Rollins, had also been arrested on corruption charges, although Phil had a feeling the list of charges would be added to in the coming weeks.

Hydra, it seemed, was getting tired of always operating in the shadows, and this had been step one in a plan to take over the entire Clan Council.  Phil was still a little hazy on some of the details, but he highly doubted that they’d discovered all of the members of Hydra.

But that was a problem for another day.

“Well, in that case,” Clint said, shuffling closer.  “I have a suggestion on how we can kill time until we meet Fury, Jasper and Melinda for dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” Phil replied, arching an eyebrow.

Clint grinned.  “Yep,” he said.  “But you’re going to have to lose the pants.”

Phil’s laughter was swallowed when Clint leaned down to kiss him again, but Phil wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Fin.


End file.
